Harry Potter and the Eternal Right
by MattD12027
Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world. Character Death, Eventual HHr.
1. PART ONE, April 1998: Love's Labor

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: This is Rated M. I hope you enjoy!**

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**PART ONE, April 1998**  
Chapter 1: Love's Labor

This was it. The end had come. Harry stood facing his destiny. He stood resolute and determined, a little bit afraid, but secure in the knowledge that his three best friends were standing behind him. He stood staring at the door, at what he knew lay beyond it...and at what it represented to him. This was the final obstacle, the final hurtle that Harry had to pass through in order to reach his fate. To Harry, though, the door acted as a mirror, as well. As he stared at the smooth black surface, his mind wandered to the events of the last seven years of his life. He could remember the elation and wonder that surrounded him when he first learned that he was a wizard. He remembered how innocent he was then, knowing nothing of the battle facing the wizarding world and the crucial role he would end up playing in it. He remembered meeting Ron and Hermione, and the first time he saw Ginny. His mind wandered through the years, fondly recalling the high points of his time spent at Hogwarts and reminding him of the trials he had already been through. His heart ached for those that had been lost - Dumbledore, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Snape...

When his mind brought the image of Snape to the forefront, he started a little. It was only a year ago that he had considered Snape just as a much of an enemy as what lay beyond this door. He had only just begun to understand what Snape and Dumbledore had set in motion that night. It had all led to what just happened - Snape sacrificed himself in order for Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny to go on. The Death Eaters had all been assembled to stop their progress, but the five of them together were a force to be reckoned with. In the end, though, five against twelve was poor odds, and Snape did the heroic thing of placing himself in harms way so the rest could go on. He stepped in front of a Killing Curse, making it possible for Hermione and Ron to savagely send their own _Avada Kedavra_'s and finally overcome the last two Death Eaters. Harry's mind mulled over the events of the past several hours, reliving each moment as it all became more and more surreal. The five of them - four now - had infiltrated what the Ministry of Magic had deemed 'the last and strongest bastion of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named...any attempt on this fortress will surely fail'. _Surely fail? SURELY FAIL?_ Harry couldn't believe the rhetoric that the Ministry had used - it was almost as if they expected everyone to fail in the war they had denied was even happening for so long.

His mind wandered back to the present, in which he was still staring at the door in front of him. He turned to his friends. "Well, I suppose this is it..." Harry's face acquired an uncomfortable look before he continued. "I'm not going to lie to you guys. We'll be lucky to come out of this alive; any of us. You can still turn back if you want to. I wouldn't blame you and no one else would either."

"Harry," Hermione began, "you know we could never do that. I've told you before that we had the opportunity to turn away from you long before now, and we never have. We're not about to start now." She held up her hand as Harry began to speak. "I don't want to hear it. We all love you and we know what this is going to be like. We've watched each other grow during the past few years, and I would be ashamed to leave now. This our fight, our battle...it's our bond that Voldemort fears most."

Harry did not say another word. Instead, he looked from Ron's face to Hermione's, and finally to Ginny's, who gave him a small smile and leaned over to kiss him. She leaned back and said, "Don't think you're alone in this, Harry. You're not and never have been. Let's do this." Harry turned to the door and reached for the handle. As his hand got close to it, his scar started to burn. When he touched it, the pained roared into a blinding, searing force. He knew what this meant...Voldemort was terribly angry. He recovered from his momentary stagger and turned the knob. The door swung open.

"Ah, at last, we have come to it," hissed a snake-like voice from within. The four of them cautiously entered the room beyond, which was dimly lit. It looked like a massive circular room. Voldemort was standing there, glaring at them. "So, Harry Potter, you have come, just as I thought you would...and I see you have brought your little friends as well," he said, as his red reptilian eyes swept over the other three.

Harry stared coldly at the thing before him. "Little? What do you know of it, Riddle? You stand here cowering in this room, leaving your Death Eaters out there to fend for themselves. They were all waiting for you to come; you could see it in their eyes. You could also see the shock on their faces when they realized they had been deserted as they died." Harry's green gaze had matched the intensity of Voldemort's red stare and his voice had become uncharacteristically icy.

Voldemort laughed at this. It was a high, snivelly sort of thing, almost like nails on a chalkboard. "Big words, boy. I don't need them. I'm more powerful than anyone could ever imagine. I could take all four of you down with one flick of my wand if I wanted to."

There was a silence for a moment as everyone contemplated what Voldemort had just said. The four friends were standing in a line facing Voldemort, who glared at them all from underneath his black hood. It was a sight, to be sure. The four teenagers were standing fearlessly against certain death, their faces grim and set and their wands out and ready. They had come this far and were not easily intimidated by mere words anymore. Voldemort hadn't realized this yet.

"So why don't you?" asked Hermione, suddenly.

Voldemort looked at her coolly for a second, but did not respond.

"Come on, _Tom_, share with us all why you aren't doing anything," said Ginny, sarcastically.

"Girl, you had best shut that mouth of yours, or I will wave my wand and end it," snapped Voldemort. Harry thought there was something odd in voice as he said those harsh words. Was it uncertainty? Perhaps fear? Or was he just bluffing?

"You keep talking about that, yet you just continue to stand there," said Ron, looking as cold as he'd ever been. All the joy and happiness had been drained from the room. The teens were no longer teens - they were as mature in their own sense as they would ever be and they were all facing what was coming like much older and more battle-wizened wizards. It was Voldemort who seemed to be the uncertain one.

"_Crucio!_" shouted Voldemort, waving his wand at Ron, but Harry was too fast for him.

"_Protego!_" bellowed Harry, waving his wand at Ron. The normal protective shield flared into existence, gleaming white around the edges, but as the curse came closer, the shield flashed a deep green. The Cruciatus bounced harmlessly off of the shield, slamming into the wall behind Voldemort and leaving a small crater there. The three others looked at Harry questioningly, knowing that under normal circumstances a simple _Protego_ incantation couldn't block an Unforgivable Curse. Harry was far from normal and these were hardly usual circumstances, so they just accepted it as another unexpected glimpse of what they secretly believed to be Harry's true power.

Voldemort eyed the crater for a moment, and then turned his head to look at Harry. "I see your reflexes…and other things…have improved since last we met. I'm impressed. With some work you could become a truly great dark sorcerer with me."

This shocked Harry. He had always considered Voldemort his mortal enemy and he thought the feeling was reciprocated. Apparently Voldemort had other ideas, though. Harry felt his temper rising as he thought this - did Voldemort think this was some kind of joke?

Through grated teeth, Harry said, "Never. I would never associate with scum like you. After all you've done...how could you even presume for one moment that I would _ever_ think of you in any other way than murder? You killed my parents, you killed my friends, and you killed my mentors; YOU KILLED MR. AND MRS. WEASLEY, YOU TORE APART THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT! _CRUCIO! STUPEFY! REDUCTO! AVADA KEDAVRA! SECTUMSEMPRA!_ Ron and Hermione took Harry's sudden outburst and flurry of spells as the word to attack. Ginny, however, had been watching Harry intently. She became aware of a tangible sense of his anger as it simmered beneath the surface. As it grew, she thought she saw the olive-emerald depths within his gaze begin to swirl and smolder. While she was observing this, Ron and Hermione had followed Harry and thrown their own spells at Voldemort. In total, fifteen spells were unleashed upon him in only a few short seconds. Voldemort dodged some and repelled the rest.

Harry stood panting for a moment as the dust settled and everyone stood still for a moment. Harry knew that Voldemort had not been expecting them to have such masterful control of advanced dark magic, but it wasn't something that made him think they had any more of a chance from when they came in. Voldemort had a sharp mind and he could adapt to many things on the fly. Four teens that know how to use Unforgivable Curses shouldn't be too much of a problem for Voldemort.

"Well, well, well. I see you have learned much in your time at Hogwart's. I must give Dumbledore credit - never when I was there did they come near teaching this level of magic. It is impressive, indeed. But, nonetheless, I will still kill you all," said Voldemort. Harry, however, looked to his friends - they had noticed it as well. Voldemort's voice was no longer calm and collected. It has a slight edge to it, almost as if the uncertainty they had sensed was actually coming into play now.

"Dumbledore didn't teach us these things," Ginny began quietly. Hermione picked up where she left off. "That's right – you knew Dumbledore was dead. He couldn't have taught us this. I doubt you'd be surprised to learn it was Harry who trained us…" Hermione trailed off, hoping she hadn't said too much.

"Let's see how much _Potter_ has actually taught you and how well he trained you to use it," hissed Voldemort. Everyone was silent for a moment, waiting for what was coming next.

"NO!" yelled Ginny suddenly. As she yelled this, Voldemort staggered back a step. The other three eyed her in surprise.

Voldemort returned to his former stance and eyed her seemingly somewhat warily. "I see he has successfully taught you how to resist the Imperius Curse. Interesting, very interesting indeed." Voldemort was looking from one person to another now. Harry took this as the fact he was formulating some kind of plan. He knew that once Voldemort launched his real attack against them, it would be brutal and coldly efficient. He searched his mind for something to do, but it was empty. He had come here willingly to face his fate, but he couldn't just stand here and let his friends succumb to the same. He had to do something, now that it came down to it. It would break him to see them meet their end here, in this cold room deep beneath the earth, where no one could hear them scream or ever know their story and how brave they all were. He had to do something.

It was as if Voldemort could read Harry's thoughts, though, because Voldemort began to laugh. Even though he was now skilled at Occlumency, the laugh suggested that Voldemort had somehow known what Harry was thinking. The laugh grew in intensity and mirth – Harry's scar started to burn. He gasped; the pain grew stronger and stronger, and, finally succumbing to it, Harry sunk to his knees.

He let out a cry of agony as he kneeled on the ground, holding his head. His friends threw wicked looks at Voldemort, who was still laughing at them shamelessly. Harry was now on all fours on the cold floor, panting and crying as the pain increased. He thought his head would explode from it. It was driving through his scar into his skull, creating shockwaves that seemed to vibrate his very brain. Harry yelled out involuntarily as his friends moved closer, trying to get a good look and see if they could help. Voldemort just stood there, laughing.

"Harry Potter, do you now see how powerful I am? Do you now see what I can do? Of all people, I expected _you_ least of all to underestimate me and what I'm capable of," said Voldemort, still laughing.

As Voldemort said this, Harry could see images of his past floating through his pounding skull. Images of his friends, his loved ones, all those that had died…he realized then that this is what his whole life had been leading up to. All those that had died for him – his parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, the Weasley's, and just recently Snape – had shown their love and support for him even as they died. His best friends, in the face of certain death and agony, stood by his side and plowed into the heart of the devil. They were fearless; _No,_ Harry thought, through the pain, _they are irreplaceable_. He loved them so much. The pain in his scar had seemed to reach a plateau, but it wasn't one such that he could move or stand-up from.

"Ah, Harry, just accept what is coming. I know you can feel it, how pointless all of this has been. After you die, guess what I'm going to do? I'm going to torture each and every one of your little friends until they scream so loud they can't anymore. And then you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to do it again and again - until they die," said Voldemort without remorse or regret – only contempt.

Harry heard this through the pain, and he also could sense the raw and powerful fear coming off of his friends now. Images of their torture – horrible, unspeakable images of what Voldemort was going to do them now floated through his searing brain. Ron was being tormented with a Cruciatus curse, writhing around on the ground as his vocal chords gave way…Hermione was getting mauled by Greyback, screaming in terror and then agony as the beast advanced upon and attacked her…and Ginny…his Ginny…no, not Ginny…At seeing what ugly things Voldemort had planned for Ginny, the pain started to grow in his scar even more. This was a different pain, though. It was crisper, sharper, and yet not as crippling. A bright white light began to show from where his scar was on his forehead.

His friends stepped back as they saw this. They looked toward Voldemort, who had stopped laughing and was staring intently at Harry. The look on his face was unreadable. He was paying no attention to anyone other than Harry at the moment, so they felt safe in ignoring him, if only for a few seconds. They turned their gazes back upon Harry, who was still panting on all fours on the ground. The white light was still emanating from his scar, only now it seemed to be growing stronger and brighter. Hermione and Ginny gasped in amazement as Harry began to rise from the ground. Ron watched in utter disbelief as Harry was lifted off his hands, then his knees, into a standing position, and then off the ground entirely. They had no idea what was happening to him; whether he was in any pain or not. They couldn't do anything for fear of injuring him.

As Harry was raised upward by a seemingly invisible force, they could see his eyes were closed. His head lolled back and then to the side; his back was arched and his arms were outstretched a bit. The white light was growing in intensity so much that soon the three others had to shield their eyes from it and back away a few steps in order to get a clear look at Harry. He was suspended in the air now – the tips of shoes were a little more than a foot of the ground. The white light started to pulse from its origin. With each pulse it grew brighter and stronger. Soon, the entire room – all of the huge vast expanse of the circular dungeon, was brightly lit by it. Voldemort was still standing opposite Harry, staring at him with wide eyes. Ginny glanced at him, wondering why he didn't seem to be doing anything. Suddenly, there was a blinding white flash and a loud snap, as though something had either been broken or unbroken. The light faded away. Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and even Voldemort stared in shock at what they saw.

Harry was still upright and off the ground, but he had changed drastically. His robes and hair moved as if a stiff breeze continually blew over him. He started to descend and when he touched the ground, his eyes opened. Ginny gasped at what she saw – Harry's unusual green eyes had taken on a whole new dimension and now were confident, fearless, all-knowing, and poised. His wand began to intermittently emit fiery red sparks from the tip as Harry stood there. The sparks, curiously, exactly matched the color of Ginny's hair. The very air around Harry seemed to crackle as he stood there.

Harry looked at them and smiled. It wasn't a smile they had ever seen before. It was utterly and completely brilliant. He looked to each of their faces and his smile deepened – he finally realized why it had to be him to kill Voldemort. His eyes left their gazes and turned toward Voldemort. As they did this, his wand started to positively throw the fiery sparks everywhere. When his gaze met Voldemort's, the sparks started to come out of his eyes. The air around Harry grew hot and listless. The three could audibly discern small pops as if minute firecrackers were going off near Harry. They stared in wonder at the sight before them. Harry had changed into something else entirely, even though he still looked like Harry Potter. Harry took a step forward, towards Voldemort. The air around him sizzled as he moved through it. The sparks were searing the floor. He moved with the most grace and confidence he had ever possessed.

"Cheap tricks Potter. Couldn't you be a little more creative?" Voldemort said, as if without a care in the world. His voice belied his words, though, because clearly this new Harry startled him. "I tire of this. Goodbye, Ms. Granger," Voldemort said, very casually. He raised wand and fired at her. The spell was green – the Killing Curse. Hermione futilely yelled a _Protego_ as Ron and Ginny screamed and shut their eyes. They all knew that _Avada Kedavra_ was unblockable. They waited for the inevitable…but it didn't come. Ginny opened her eyes, and breathed in sharply as she saw what had happened. The green essence of the spell had stopped a few feet in front of the three. It was now motionless, just hovering in the air. She looked to Harry for understanding, and things fell into place. She was finally starting to comprehend what had happened to Harry. He had put his left hand up toward the curse and had stopped it from hitting Hermione. He beckoned the essence toward him, closing his hand as he did so. The green essence dwindled to nothing more than a fluorescent marble, which Harry brought close to his mouth. He puffed out some air – _poof_ – and it was gone.

Voldemort gasped as he saw what Harry had done. "But –that's impossible. _Avada Kedavra_ is…can't… No, that can't have happened…I must have made a mistake," he muttered to himself. Voldemort raised his wand and four green lights came flying out toward them. Ginny shrieked another futile _Protego_ and huddled closer to Ron and Hermione, waiting for it, but yet again, it didn't come. They all looked and saw that the four had stopped just as the first one had, several feet in front of them. Harry repeated what he had done earlier, sending the spells away with little puffs of breath.

Voldemort was clearly frightened now. He raised his wand, but before he could cast anything, Harry spoke.

"Tom, Tom…why do you persist with that rubbish? Clearly you can see that will not be working anymore. Lower your wand and make it easier on yourself," said Harry, calmly. The others marveled at his voice – it was as if they were experiencing it rather than hearing it. It flowed through their veins and gave them each a confidence that none had ever known. Hermione had a dawning look on her face and then stared wide-eyed at Harry as she realized something. He was sharing his soul with them, unconditionally and without hesitance. They could all feel the power swirling within him.

Voldemort laughed shrilly. "You have no idea what you're talking about, little boy! Nothing can stand in my way! Don't you get it? I'm Lord Voldemort, the most powerful wizard this world has ever known!" Voldemort raised his wand and began casting _Avada Kedavra_'s all over the place, but each and every one of them was stopped and given the same treatment.

After a few moments of this, Harry bellowed, "ENOUGH, TOM!" The air around Harry exploded into sparks and hissed as he shouted – the end of his wand was practically a torch now. The sparks coming from his eyes had died off, but the greens swirling within reached new depths. An aura around Harry started to glow as he advanced on Voldemort.

"Can you not see what is happening here, Tom? I would have thought you were smarter than this. _Avada Kedavra_ is a spell based purely in hate – you have to utterly loathe the person you are casting it on for it to be effective. As you can see, however, they are largely ineffective at the moment." Harry neared Voldemort and came to a stop. His aura had started to glow a deep green, much like the color in his eyes. His stare burned into Voldemort's red eyes, which showed only hatred.

"And I'm sure you're wondering why. Well, let me tell you that I have you to thank for that. Yes – don't look at me like that – it was you who did this. When you put those images of the Ron, Hermione, and Ginny within my head, you unknowingly triggered something that I think even Dumbledore was wary of," explained Harry. He made a gesture, as if to show Voldemort what he'd become. "Dumbledore always said that love was a powerful force – one which is mighty in the brain but unimaginably powerful if it ever manifested itself physically."

Voldemort seemed to be catching on, because the fear was now radiating off of him.

"That is what I have become – the physical representation of love. When I saw what you had planned for Ginny, something deep within my soul stirred and awoke. I think it is the last and most powerful part of the protection my mother gave me when she died. Even Dumbledore didn't seem to know how to trigger it – he never hinted that he did, at least – so I'm not sure if this has ever been done before…but regardless of any of that, I want you to give me your wand."

Voldemort couldn't help himself from laughing even though was obviously scared. He simply raised his wand and began a rapid-fire assault on Harry, who was only feet away. His friends screamed when they saw this, but quickly stopped. Voldemort was unleashing Killing Curse after Killing Curse upon Harry, but they all hit him and vaporized harmlessly. His aura glowed brighter with every new spell that dissipated in front of him.

"Love is more powerful than hate, Tom; far more powerful. Nothing you can do to me will hurt me now. You have one-seventh of a soul left. Even if you somehow embraced love in the next 10 seconds, you couldn't begin to imagine what real and boundless love and friendship feels like. _Accio wand_," said Harry. Voldemort's wand flew to him. He snapped it in two and threw it on the ground. This didn't stop Voldemort, however, because he wandlessly continued to attack Harry. Harry stood there for a moment, but he had had enough. He closed his eyes and immediately his aura began to get brighter and pulse once more. Large, green lightning bolts flew from it, as it grew stronger. Swirling tendrils emanated from the main aura and started circling Harry. His robes and hair were rippling like he was in the middle of gale. When Harry opened his eyes again and looked at Voldemort, he knew what he had to do. He focused his power intensely for one brief moment, and then there was a green flash.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny felt Harry's love as it washed over them – this wasn't just the feeling of love, though; this was the actual thing. The physical representation of his love was so much more powerful than anything they had experienced, and they all stared wordlessly at their friend – they had never guessed the extent to which his soul had really cared for them all. Ginny was in tears as images of Harry's hopes and dreams for their future cascaded through her brain. She was smiling, unable to control herself in light of the dire situation. Hermione was goggle-eyed as she realized how much Harry appreciated her wisdom and tenacity. He considered her absolutely brilliant and respected anything she had to say. Ron could do nothing but stare open-mouthed at Harry – the images that ran through his brain were of him and Harry becoming even closer later in life and always holding onto their special bond.

Voldemort, on the other hand, was unprepared for the sudden contact with true love. His tiny shard of a soul was overwhelmed almost at once and shattered. He screamed in a high-pitched, airy voice, and collapsed to the ground. He convulsed briefly and then laid still. The waves of green washing through the room died off slowly, leaving Harry standing there, resolute and straight in his crackling glow. He turned to face them.

"My friends," he said hoarsely, with open arms. "I love you so much," he whispered fiercely at them, as tears started to pour down his face. They all rushed over to him. They hugged him and Ginny kissed him – it was deep, long, and beautiful. She looked in the great green depths of Harry's eyes, matching his sparkling emerald intensity with her own glowing brown orbs. "I love you Harry Potter. I love you," she cried as she buried her head into his shoulder.

Harry seemed to be coming down from his newfound power, because his clothes and hair had stopped rippling and the air was no longer crackling. Hermione and Ron were looking at Voldemort, who still lay where he fell. They looked at Harry and then back to Voldemort.

"Is he dead?" Hermione asked.

"No – he's just utterly broken. His soul couldn't handle that. It shattered and he's now powerless," Harry told her. _A Dementor would be proud_, he thought ruefully.

Ginny was looking at him with nothing less than awe. "Harry…oh Harry…how did you do that? That – that was just amazing…"

"He showed me what he planned to do to you three. It was so terrible – I just couldn't control myself anymore. I let loose completely and the next thing I knew I was standing upright facing him. I felt…not more powerful, not exactly…more focused and clear on what I had to, I think. There was something else, though…love, I'm sure… much more potent, that I could only control by instinct. I'm not sure if even Dumbledore thought I would be able to do that…"

"I think he knew," said Hermione, thoughtfully. "He was always telling us that love was the most important thing and to hold onto it. He knew that this _could_ happen – whether he'd seen it is doubtful…oh, Harry, it was so beautiful, when those, er, waves washed over us. We saw your thoughts…" and she ran to him and buried her face in his other shoulder, as Ginny had occupied the other again. Ron just looked at him. "Wow, mate, I never knew how much, well, how much you cared for us all," he said as tears glowed in his eyes.

"And Harry, what I saw was breathtaking…" remarked Ginny. She looked into his eyes once more. "I would be happy to partake in all of those wonderful things you showed me," she said calmly, gazing into his depths as if she could see his soul. He smiled at her and the leaned down to kiss her.

Hermione backed away, looking curiously at his forehead. Her eyes widened.

"Harry, your scar! It's…it's gone!" she breathed.

Harry felt his forehead. Sure enough, the lightning bolt-shaped scar that he had worn since the night his parents died was no longer part of his features. He left his hand there for a moment, wondering how it had happened.

"Neat," he said, with a mischievous smile and a twinkle not unlike Dumbledore in those ravishing eyes of his. The four friends began to walk from the room. This had started so long ago, with the appearance of that lightning bolt. Now, all these years later, as the four friends somberly but happily walked away from the crippled Dark Lord, they realized that it had ended with the disappearance of that same lightning bolt-shaped scar.


	2. New Beginnings

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: I hope you enjoy! Please take the time to review if you can.**

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Chapter 2: New Beginnings 

Harry and his three friends – his three battle partners, best mates, and those that he had shared his soul with – emerged out from the heavy door into the glittering sunshine. Harry had to stop for a moment and collect himself; it was such a drastic change from what he had just left. Behind them, stretching back and down into the Earth for miles, it seemed, was the fortress of the defeated Dark Lord. The inside was cold, stony, and had an iridescent green glow. The glow seemed to only heighten the gloom, though, because they had been forced to ignite their wands at various points. Harry grimaced and shook his head before he let his memory relive the last few hours any further. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had stopped and were looking at him. They still were a little awed at what Harry had shown them, but it was quickly wearing off to be replaced by the usual _Harry can never surprise me_ sentiment. He looked at them, smiled briefly, and then continued on. They moved along side-by-side to face the new world ahead of them, together. Just as they neared a sharp ninety-degree turn in the path, around some hedges, McGonagall come hurrying around the corner.

She stopped in shock at what she saw – the four teenagers were walking toward her, projecting a confidence and unity she had never felt from them before. She had sensed the breaking of Voldemort's powers, but she had no idea how it happened or how many of the four were left after what was sure to have been an impressive battle. In this moment, she saw them not as her students, but as her equals and possibly her superiors. Evidently, they had survived the onslaught of the Dark Lord's forces and, it looked like, the Dark Lord himself. She got over her shock quickly and assumed her usual stern look, her hands on her hips with a sharp glare in eye. The four stopped a few feet from her. They just stood there, looking at her.

"Well?" she asked sharply, but there was a shrill tone in her voice. She wanted to hear what had happened very badly, and could barely contain herself. _Wait…_something was wrong with this picture. _Snape!_ Her face lost some of its color as she realized the only thing that could have kept him.

"Where is Severus?" she whispered quietly. The small flinch from Ronald Weasley and the pained look from Harry told her all she needed to know. Her heart immediately went out to the fallen warrior of the Light, shocking herself at how powerful her own feelings were. The man had been misunderstood for so long, and now that he had finally earned redemption, he had been killed. Small, hot tears started to leak from her eyes as she remembered Snape as she last saw him – confident, willing, and completely capable of leading the strike team into the heart of the fortress before them. He had even joked with her before they set out, commenting that Voldemort wouldn't know what hit him. Then images of others – Dumbledore, the Weasleys, a few Aurors, and various students – came to her mind and she started crying much harder. The tears were slipping out of her eyes unhindered.

McGonagall let out a soft moan, as the full cost of the war seemed to hit her all at once, and sank slowly to the ground. Immediately, Harry moved to his longtime Professor and friend, and knelt beside her. Through her tears, she noticed that he seemed to move with a certain grace she hadn't noticed. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she immediately began to calm down. She couldn't understand it; Harry Potter was simply touching her shoulder in his affectionate way that he was towards most people, and she was feeling physically and mentally better – no, not just _feeling_; she _was_ better. She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, through clearer vision now that her tears had dried up, and then stood up. The others hadn't moved throughout this whole episode.

"Thank you, Harry, I don't know what came over me," began McGonagall.

Harry just shook his head slowly. "You had every right to that, Professor. As I'm sure you've just fully realized, though the war is over, the grieving will continue for a very long time." She stared at Harry. He sounded so much like Dumbledore there, for a second, and she could have sworn she saw that maddening twinkle in his sparkling eyes. She looked at him closely for another, felt him grow uncomfortable under her gaze, and then shifted her attention. She looked from one friend to another, until she had landed back onto Harry again. "Well?" she said impatiently, as if this was some particularly juicy gossip.

"First," said Harry, "what about the others? All of the Aurors that came in with us couldn't go into the room with the Death Eaters. They weren't powerful enough to cascade through the magical seal. Snape – Professor Snape – and us four were the only ones that could go on."

"They were forced to come back," replied McGonagall. "Tonks led them out, picking up the wounded and dead of the Light as they came. She told me the entire story up to the point that they had been forced to go back, and was incredibly anxious for you…all of you. We could do little but pray, hope, heal the wounded, and wait. Then, a little while ago, we all felt the power of Voldemort break and then die off completely. They all wanted to rush into the fortress and see what had happened, but I warned them and told them to stay there in case it was a trap. And here we stand," she finished. "Now, if you please, what in bloody hell happened down there?"

The four friends had never heard their Professor curse before, but they took it as a sign of the magnitude of the stress she was under. She was Headmaster of Hogwarts, second in command of the Order (to Harry), leader and mentor to many people, and trusted confidant of many of the most powerful beings of the Light. They could certainly see why she was a little tense at the moment. Harry looked to the others and wordlessly asked them who should tell the story. Without hesitation, the looks they gave told him that it would, of course, be him.

"Why don't we all sit down on the grass over here," urged Harry. He led them to a small patch of grass, just out of sight of the Aurors, who were most likely hotly anticipating the return of someone from around the hedge. "Once we entered the room the Aurors couldn't get into, we were quickly surrounded by the twelve senior Death Eaters…" and Harry went on to tell the entire story to McGonagall. He told her about Snape's noble sacrifice, meeting Voldemort in the cavernous dungeon, the images that he had sent of the torture (not exactly what he had seen, though, as he didn't think his friends should ever have to know that), and the change they had seemed to trigger in him. "He, uh, screamed and then collapsed, and then it was all over," Harry finished. All were silent for a moment, collecting their thoughts. The four teens were quietly reliving the nightmare that had just unfolded before them and McGonagall was using her razor-sharp powers of deduction to make some assumptions about the remarkable boy in front of her. He had achieved something that Dumbledore had only mentioned in passing – it was something that he had immediately regretted revealing, too. She thought it was odd, at the time, because her and Dumbledore had few if any secrets between them.

She stood up and said, "It will take some time to absorb all that you have said and done, Harry. As for you three," she smiled, "I wouldn't have expected any less from you." Her smiled turned warm, inviting, and grateful. She had a hard time hiding just how grateful, and Harry noticed it.

"None of this would have been possible without your support over the years. We all played our part and did the best that we could. Now that he's finally dead, it will be awhile before we really see what we accomplished…_as a team_," he finished emphatically. Harry looked at the four people around him and felt that wondrous feeling of love welling up inside of him again. He had nothing but the utmost respect for anyone who had stood by his side during the darkest times. "Shall we go meet the others?" he asked. They all nodded in agreement, and followed him around the corner.

"Harry!" someone shrieked almost immediately. It was Tonks, and she already moving swiftly toward him. The other Aurors looked up sharply, and started toward the five people coming around the corner almost as quickly as the Metamorphmagus had. They were all personally surprised it was the four teens that had returned, especially without Snape. Some of them were still stung by the fact that the four friends were individually more powerful than any of them. They had all been repelled at that last door, but the five had just walked through.

Harry accepted the warm embrace from Tonks when she reached him, and smiled into her face. He then looked around at all the other Aurors who had been able to come over to them, and smiled at them all. Some noticed a certain twinkle in his eye, which reminded them of a certain someone who they had lost…

"My friends, we have done it!" Harry suddenly exclaimed. He realized that none of them had really reveled in the glorious thing they had accomplished that day. Yes, they had suffered losses, as they would have in any war, but the dead would have wanted to be celebrating at the time of victory. They could be honored formally later. For now, he sensed that it was appropriate to enjoy the next few hours with the Light. They had erupted in cheering and whistling, even though most of them still had curious looks on their faces. Harry laughed when saw this – a deep, joyous laugh that none of the others had heard in a long time – and tried to quiet them down.

"I can tell that you are all anxious to hear what has transpired," Harry said, and again many of them thought how remarkably like Dumbledore's speech his was at the moment. Harry began on a serious note, by saying that, "Without Snape, this would have failed. We would have all been killed and Voldemort would have won. Snape is truly a hero – as are _all_ the fallen – and will be remembered as such." Some of the Aurors looked very sour at this because the fate of Dumbledore was still fresh in their minds. Harry saw this and added, quietly, "He sacrificed himself. He got in the way of an _Avada Kedavra_ to allow us to overpower the last of the Death Eaters." Some of the Aurors around him softened a bit at this, but he could tell that some were still very reluctant to trust the man, even from beyond the grave. Their trust would have to come later.

"Harry, earth to Harry!" called Tonks. He realized that he had slipped off into a daydream about what Snape had done. He shook his head and smiled guiltily at those around him, his eyes twinkling even more now. "Sorry about that. I was just lost in thought. All right, I suppose I'll have to tell the story again…" and Harry told the Aurors all that had happened. When he had finally finished, no one talked for a very long time. Harry started to become uncomfortable, and looked to his friends. They were just looking around in amusement. Harry gave them a questioning look, to which Harry nodded in the general direction of most of the Aurors. He looked at their faces, and was momentarily taken aback. Most were staring at his face – some intently, some in wonder, and some in envy. His face grew hot as he felt a blush rise. Ron sniggered at him and Ginny couldn't help but start to laugh. Soon Hermione and McGonagall joined in, and then slowly the Aurors began to as well.

Harry looked around for a moment, and then smiled inwardly to himself. He wasn't letting them get away this easily. "What in Merlin's name is wrong with you people?" Why are you laughing at _me_?" to which they started laughing harder, taking his false indignation for seriousness. He tried to keep a straight face for as long as he could, but that wasn't long. He couldn't help himself, and broke into fits of laughter with everyone else. They all laughed like they hadn't in a very long time. They laughed because it was finally safe to do so, because the powerful being that had plagued so many of their dreams had finally been vanquished. And, realizing with a sobering thought, that it was this good-looking 17-year-old standing in front of them who had done it, so willingly and without question, they slowly quieted down.

"Well, now that _that's_ out of our systems, I was wondering if you could answer a question for me, Harry," said Tonks, looking intently at her younger friend. Everyone quieted down completely at this statement, because they all knew that Tonks had an extremely sharp mind. They wanted to hear what she had to say.

"Yes?" Harry asked, looking expectantly at her.

"Well, the…thing…you did with your powers…would it be possible, I mean, _is_ it possible for you to duplicate that?" Tonks asked, tentatively. She watched as Harry thought about it for a moment. All those around could almost feel the wheels turning in his brain.

"I'm not really sure. From what Ron, Hermione, and Ginny told me, it seemed to originate from my scar, which as you can all see, I don't have anymore," he explained, as he brushed the hair from his forehead for them to see. Some gasped, but Harry thought that most of them had been expecting something similar if Voldemort were defeated. "Because of that, I believe that it was somehow part of the blood protection my mother left me when she was…murdered; maybe the last and most powerful part of it. I've always thought it was somehow tied to the scar, but I guess if I could reproduce what happened earlier, that would prove that it wasn't." He paused, looking around, seeing if they understood what he was saying. Some nodded. Harry continued, by saying, "If I could reproduce it, that would mean that the scar was the easiest outlet for the magical transformation that evidently took place…" Harry surmised. He had wondered about that. He had never thought to look at himself during his heightened power. He was too focused on the task at hand; it wasn't until Ginny had told him how much different he looked and _felt_, physically and magically; that he had realized the new powers needed a catalyst _and_ an outlet. If he were going to try this again, he would have to be careful. He didn't want to hurt himself or, more importantly, the others around him.

"Well, I guess I can try it, but I want to move a bit away from you guys in case something goes wrong." It was instinctual before – he had no idea how his body and magic would react if he tried to force it upon himself. He looked around for approval, saw that none was needed since, after all, _he_ had killed Voldemort, and so he started to move away from them. Someone grabbed his arm and spun him around. It was Ginny. She had a stern look in her face. "Listen to me, Harry Potter, I don't want you doing any harm to yourself. Do your hear me? If you sense something is wrong, at all, stop immediately! Ok?" she asked, almost as an afterthought. Harry had to suppress a laugh. How she reminded him of Mrs. Weasley! When the image of her appeared in his head, he felt a twinge when he remembered that she was no longer with them. He nodded at Ginny, kissed her, and backed away a bit. She rejoined the others.

"Ok," said Harry, "are you all ready?" Some said yes, others nodded, and some just continued to stare at him. They had a hard time believing that this young man was capable of something that was apparently incredibly powerful. Harry noticed this, and was not surprised by it. He had always had skeptics, so why should this be any different?

"Alright, here goes nothing," Harry muttered. He started by focusing on his energies as much as could and tried to concentrate that energy into the feeling he had experienced earlier. He tried to drive the power out of him and up to the surface. He tried, harder and harder, but to no avail. The harder he tried, the further away the power seemed. He couldn't figure out what he was doing wrong. _Dumbledore would know,_ thought Harry, and the moment that Dumbledore appeared in his mind's eye, it clicked. He could already feel the potential building up. The vision had produced a strong sense of love and protection from Harry, and realized that this was the key. He slowly carried his mind over the ones he cared about most, alive or dead, and let the well of power slowly build and simmer. He focused more clearly on Ginny, Ron, and Hermione, as he had done before, and this seemed to do it. The transformation started, but the white light did not appear from his non-existent scar; instead, it came from his eyes. The emerald depths there turned sparklingly bright for a moment, then started to emit that light. It grew stronger and stronger, pulsing as Harry was raised from the ground.

The Aurors were watching in amazement as the power levels of the boy had surged to the surface. It was unlike anything they'd ever felt, but it was certainly more powerful also. Dumbledore didn't even compare to the store of energy that was now being released. Some noticed that, even though his eyes were now closed, the white light was still pulsing from the lids. It grew incredibly, impossibly bright, as it had done before, and then the _crack_ was heard. The gasps were audible now as the bright light faded and Harry came back into view. He settled to the ground and opened his eyes. He stood there, very still, trying to control the power that he could feel flowing through him. It had been easier, before, because there had been a conduit for that power – Voldemort. He now had to contain it within himself, though, because he did not want to risk the safety of the others. He noticed that many of them were staring at his eyes, and he smiled. Some of the eyes then shifted to his face in general.

"What are you looking at?" he asked sheepishly. It was anything but a sheepish feeling that the voice projected though – it was calming, yet empowering and loving. They all felt a bit soothed by him talking.

Tonks, who was unable to tear her eyes away from the crackling, rippling figure before her, was the first to speak. "Well, you see, Harry, you look _like_ power. I'm not sure if I can even describe it right. We can _feel_ your power…quite clearly," she added in amusement. "It's more than that, though. It's almost as if the power was a physical object, one that we could reach out and touch."

Harry nodded at this. He slowly walked toward them, trying to contain his power a little more as he heard the air sizzling around him. His wand had started to emit the bright red sparks again. "Yes, Ginny told me that was how she and the others felt. When I finally…unleashed myself upon Voldemort they said it felt like they were being bombarded by something…physical. The best explanation I can give is the one I gave Tom. I have become the physical representation of love." There were gasps and even mild chuckles from the group. Love? How could that much power be love? Some were skeptical and others thought that it was some kind of joke.

Ron and Hermione could tell that some of the others weren't taking it seriously, and they gave knowing looks to one another. They whispered in Ginny's ear briefly, and she giggled and nodded her head. Without warning, she approached Harry and embraced him. He hadn't had time to react, but he was now worried what the physical repercussions of his power might do to her. He tried to push her away, but she resisted, so he decided to melt into her hug. The energy around Harry popped and sizzled more violently, and a green aura started to show around him. Ginny started to glow red – the aura was the same color as her hair. This wasn't coming from Harry, though. It was all her own. The green and red auras mixed and mingled, and the air suddenly exploded in sparks. Green and red lightning started to be thrown off the auras. Some of it went towards the group, but they did not move. It was soothing, almost like a drug, but it did not have an incapacitating effect. They were still fully in control of themselves.

Ginny looked up at Harry, impressed and awed at the feelings of genuine and uncontrollable love that was reverberating from her body to his and back, and realized that he was looking down. She moved her head up and kissed him. The auras exploded in a dazzling and overwhelming pulse of green and red waves.

Those that were present that day would never forget the feelings they had as the waves washed over them. At first, they were all somewhat shocked and embarrassed at the raw love flowing between Harry and Ginny, but that was quickly replaced with awe at just how much Ginny and especially Harry appreciated them all. Hermione and Ron saw what they had before; McGonagall saw that Harry had always considered her a grandmotherly figure and would do anything to protect her; Tonks and the other Aurors saw how much Harry appreciated their support and help throughout the war. As the kiss continued, the waves grew in intensity and soon many of the people were sitting on the ground, marveling at the young man that had saved the wizarding world.

The two auras had mingled and were now violently cascading against one another. The air around Harry and Ginny shimmered and sparked as lightning from them shot off into it. Finally, they broke apart, and the waves died down. The auras were quick to follow and Ginny looked like her normal self. She was looking at Harry like he had never seen her do before – he knew that he wanted to be with this woman for the rest of his life. He had not come down from his changed appearance yet, as he had before, and tried to contain it to see how long he could stay like that. Ginny and Harry finally looked up to the rest of the people that were around. Hermione, Tonks, the female Aurors, and even McGonagall to a certain extent were looking at Harry with a slightly ravenous look. The men just stared at him because they could literally touch how powerful he was. Ginny swept her eyes around the scene.

"Now, none of you better get any ideas about Harry, here…" she growled territorially at the other women standing around. McGonagall was the first to start laughing and soon after many joined in.

"Ginny, Ginny…my, how you remind me of Molly," said McGonagall. She regretted it almost immediately as she saw twinge of pain flash over Ginny's face. "Oh my, I'm sorry…didn't think—"

Ginny held up her hand. "It's alright. Voldemort is no more. Let's concentrate on that for now." McGonagall nodded, relieved that she hadn't started something unintentionally.

Tonks chose this moment to speak up. She had a faraway, glazed look in her eyes. She wasn't looking at Harry, but through him, so to speak. "Wow…that was incredible. How in Merlin's name did you do that? And how long can you stay like that?"

Harry had forgotten that he still hadn't descended from his powers yet. He took the time to look at himself – the first time he did since he had transformed against Voldemort – and let out a small noise when he saw what the transformation did. His robes were swishing around, as was his hair, and he noticed a faint green glow around his body. He could now feel the air around him as it sizzled and simmered a bit. He surged his power briefly to see the effect, and he was rewarded instantaneously with an expanded aura and loud popping noises as the air grew warmer. He let the surge die away and looked up at the expectant faces in front of him.

"Well, to answer your first question, it didn't look like I was going to be able to do it again. I concentrated on my magic and tried to force it to come out and start the transformation, but the harder I tried the further away it seemed to be. I was getting frustrated and thought that if Dumbledore were here he would know what to do, and then it happened. Images of the people that I love and care about cascaded through my brain and the power took hold."

One of the Aurors moved slightly and said, "But I thought you said it came from where your scar was. It came out of your eyes this time."

Harry looked at him and replied: "Apparently it wasn't linked to my scar as I originally thought. The scar must have been Voldemort's doing and not part of the blood protection. If I can still do this, even with the scar gone, then it must be something entirely separate. As for the light coming from my eyes…" he said thoughtfully, before continuing on with, "…that must have been the second easiest outlet for the energy." He stopped and there was a heavy silence. He thought he could actually hear the thinking occurring around him.

"The change _is_ pretty remarkable. You sound and move like a different person. You're confident, poised, and one look at you demands respect. Your body can hardly contain the energies. And those waves…what were those…" McGonagall said, trying to sort it all out.

"Like I said before – the waves are _love_ manifested _physically_. No – snigger all you want – but that is the only explanation for it. That is all I really feel when I'm like this and how else would I have been able to counter the _Avada Kedavra_?" Harry asked them all. A few Aurors looked up sharply when he said this.

"You were able to counter the Killing Curse?" one asked, very hesitantly, because he had always known that it was impossible to block.

"Yeah, I got hit with about 15—" Harry heard many gasps around him, except from his three friends "—and they only made me stronger. Every time they hit me I felt more powerful. I was also able to neutralize several others," he stated while thinking of the ones that Voldemort had shot at his friends. "And there's more proof – _Avada Kedavra_ is ancient Aramaic for 'let the thing be destroyed'. I know that because I asked Snape why that particular incantation is used for such a deadly curse. He said the spell is pure hate and that you have to hate with all your soul the thing you are using it on for it to work properly." He paused for a second, seeming to think. He then went on with, "They had no effect on me, and so I must have been using the exact opposite of it. And the exact opposite of hate is love," he finished.

Some nodded in understanding and acceptance while others still looked hesitant, but Harry did not care at this point. Voldemort was vanquished and life could now go on.

"Well, Mr. Potter, you never cease to amaze me. What would we do without you?" asked McGonagall.

Ever the modest one, Harry grinned sheepishly and said, "Don't forget that these three were also there. Without them we wouldn't be here right now."

"Eh, I don't know about that mate," said Ron. Hermione and Ginny nodded at what he said.

"What?"

"Well, it's just that, once we got to Voldemort we didn't really do much. You saved our asses-" McGonagall glared at Ron "-many times in that room. You might have needed us to get to him, but it was definitely you who took him on."

"Without your support this wouldn't have been possible, though." Harry said quietly. He was looking at them, marveling at how much he really cared for them. "Without all of your support and tireless effort, Voldemort surely would have gotten the upper hand," he said to everyone. "And," he added, his voice cracking a bit, "all the people that couldn't be with us today will never be forgotten." He turned away from them to hide his sudden anguish.

None of them realized how much had been on Harry's shoulder over the past seven years. He was constantly scrutinized, judged, made fun of, underestimated, taken for granted, and ignored, among other things. Yet, through it all, he had remained steadfast in his mission to rid the world of Voldemort. He stood strong against the wave of fear when the world had thought he opened the Chamber of Secrets and the wave of hatred when the world had thought he was a showoff and a liar. Somehow, he had managed to ignore that all and continue on, protecting the ones he loved and, in many cases, the very people that caused him the most pain.

With his words, they saw how truly remarkable Harry Potter was. He had led the group fearlessly into the fortress, fighting bravely to where he had thought he was going to die. He didn't question it though, because it was something he felt he had to do to protect all those that stood before him. He stood fearlessly against the Dark Lord himself, willing to give up his life for his three friends. He was nobility and selflessness personified. They realized that they all owed much to this 17-year-old.

"Harry…" Ginny said. His raven hair was mussed up, as usual, and had fallen over to cover his down-turned face. When he looked up at her, he was smiling, but she could tell that he was holding back some pain. His emerald eyes were flashing into her face, giving him a somewhat stormy appearance. "You know that I love you, right?" she asked him.

He nodded. "I know, Gin, I just got a little caught up there in the memories…" He smiled at her. "You help with it, though." He kissed her. His aura flashed again at this, but it was just a short kiss.

As the two turned, McGonagall couldn't help but think about how proud she was of them. They had suffered so much, but here at the end of it all they were still together and cared for each other more than ever. _I wish Albus were here…_she thought to herself. Harry eyed her somewhat curiously for a second, and then looked around.

"Sorry about that, everyone. Memories came back…" he began, but Tonks cut him off.

"You don't have to make excuses to us, Harry; or anyone, for that matter. We all are indebted to you and understand completely what you've gone through. We all owe you our lives."

Harry looked at her for a moment. "None of you owe me anything," he said. He shook his head when Tonks started to speak again. "I mean it. None of you owe me anything at all. I'm not holding anything against you and I never will. I did this because I wanted to and now that I have I'm just glad it's over. We can all move on with our lives and forget these silly debts. It wouldn't have been possible without all of you." Tonks started to speak again. "No, I don't want to hear it, Nymphadora. Do not think you owe me anything." He hoped that using her full name would produce the desired effect.

_This is the bravest and most humble person that I've ever met. I just wish there were more of them_, though Tonks, wistfully. _And he sounds so much like Albus._ She nodded at Harry, acknowledging defeat.

Harry looked around. "So what now?"

Ginny spoke up. "Why don't we all go back to Hogwarts? I don't know if I can handle any media or whatever right now." Others around her murmured in agreement, but some Aurors clearly wanted to go back to the Ministry to sort things out.

"That is an excellent idea Ms. Weasley. We can all apparate outside the gates of the castle," agreed McGonagall.

"But, Professor," started Hermione. McGonagall gave her a sharp look, which would soon be replaced. "There was one person that we didn't recover," she continued quietly. "Professor Snape is still down there."

"Oh, bloody hell, I knew we forgot something," said Ron. "Why didn't we…get him…on the way out?"

Professor McGonagall looked at Hermione solemnly. "Thank you for remembering, Ms. Granger. I will go, er, pick him up at once." Her voice held some strain as she went off toward the fortress.

As soon as Hermione had mentioned Snape, Harry's mind had wandered back to that fight with the Death Eaters. He saw the battle in his mind – the intense hexing and cursing, the errant killing curses, the Death Eaters falling one by one. They were down to two, when one unexpectedly shot an _Avada Kedavra_ accurately at Ginny. Snape, seeing this and seeing that she had no chance, had stepped in front of it. As he was going down, Ron and Hermione had countered the spell with two of their own, killing the last two Death Eaters without remorse or regret. His mind's eye saw Snape as he lay there now, amid the bodies of the twelve Death Eaters. Snape had a passive face and his eyes were closed. _That's odd…victims of _Avada Kedavra_ are always left with their eyes open_, thought Harry. He saw Snape laying there, his chest moving, sprawled there peacefully among the other bodies—his chest moving! _His chest is moving! That means…he has to be alive!_ He looked up sharply.

"Professor, wait!" he cried out, stopping her, as she was just about to go around the hedges. He sprinted over to where she was looking impatiently at him.

"Yes, Mr. Potter? I am perfectly capable of—" she started, but Harry cut her off.

"He's alive. Snape's alive!" he shouted at her.

She had a confused look on her face. It would have been quite comical under different circumstances. "But…what? You said he was killed. Didn't you?"

"Yes, but, trust me, he's alive. I'll be back in a moment. Go back over there," Harry said, almost ordering his Professor. In his excitement he forgot with whom he was talking to. She glared at him, but soon found herself glaring at empty air. _He must be able to apparate through some wards _she thought to herself. She walked back to the group, who were all looking at her questioningly.

"Don't ask me. When Mr. Potter gets back he has some explaining to do," she told everyone. As she finished saying that though, Harry had reappeared before them. He had Professor Snape with him. Tonks and McGonagall immediately went to him to see if they could help. Sure enough, his chest was slowly rising and falling, as if he were in a very deep sleep.

"I don't understand," sputtered Hermione. "He was hit by a Killing Curse. How is this possible?" she asked as her confusion deepened. She had seen it – the curse going toward Ginny and then flaring brilliantly before hitting Snape, who had dove in front of her. He had tumbled to the floor, unmoving.

"I'm not sure what is going, either, Mione, but let me see if I can bring him out of this," said Harry. He was still 'ascended', as he had come to think of it, so he thought that he should be able to revive his Potions Master.

"Back up, everyone," he stated firmly. They all backed away, trusting Harry completely because of what he had already accomplished.

He laid his hands on Snape's chest and started to gather his energy. His robes were whip cracking around him, his hair was standing up as though it was being blown ferociously, and his aura immediately started to glow and expand. Ginny couldn't tear her gaze away from his eyes, which had turned into a viridian well into his soul. He was concentrating on sending power through his hands into Snape, and he could see that it was working because of the green pulses that were now traveling through his arms. Snape started to glow green and he lifted off the ground about an inch or so.

The onlookers couldn't help but stare in wonder as Harry revealed more of his talents to them. He was using his raw power to revive Snape, sending the Professor part of himself to help the man out of whatever trance he was in. Snape glowed a brilliant emerald for a second, and then the light faded.

Harry stood up and looked at Snape expectantly. He took that glow as a sign that whatever healing he had done to the man was complete, and was now waiting for some sign of life other than his chest, which was still slowly rising and falling. The seconds ticked by, with each one making Harry more and more impatient. Just as Harry was settling back down to try again, Snape coughed. Everyone around him jumped.

Snape coughed more violently, and then sat up quickly. He was still coughing, wracking his body with his powerful lungs. It seemed as if he trying to expel something. His eyelids fluttered open and he looked around.

"Wha…?" he began, clearing his throat. He saw a young man before him that he didn't recognize. _Wait…that's Harry. What the hell happened to him?_ "Er, Harry?" The young man nodded. Snape looked around to see the rest of the people staring at them in pure wonder. Their eyes were slowly going from Snape to Harry and back to Snape again. Snape got a little annoyed, and said, rather curtly, "Would someone mind telling me what is going on around here?"

Before he could get an answer, though, McGonagall rushed over to him and embraced him. He couldn't remember as warm an embrace from her in his life, and was rather surprised. The last thing that he remembered was a Death Eater firing a Killing Curse…

He pulled away from her and jumped up. He looked at the people around him. Something was different – it was almost a triumphant look.

"Well, is anyone going to inform me why you all are standing there staring gape-mouthed at me or did everyone lose the ability to speak?" sneered Snape. He was a little angry, but he was very confused. What had happened?

"Well, you see, Voldemort's gone," stated Harry, matter-of-factly.

Did he hear Harry right? _Voldemort…dead? Finally, after all this time? But…how?_ It was just the four teens left when he thought he was killed…

"Voldemort's, uh, dead?" Snape asked, incredulously. Harry shook his head. This confused Snape even more than he already was. "But you just told me that he was 'gone'."

"His soul is destroyed," offered Hermione. Snape could tell she was being absolutely truthful. _He's…really…gone! Albus will be so happy!_

He pulled Harry to the side quickly. "You're sure? He's really gone?" Harry smiled and nodded his head at Snape, and then apparated away. Before Snape could react, however, he was back, with a limp, black form in his hands. Harry coldly dumped it on the ground, and in doing so the hood of the robe fell back. There were some shrieks as people saw who it was – Voldemort laid on the ground before them all.

Snape stared in wonder at the being that had caused so much misery. Harry had just deposited him on the ground like he was nothing - nothing more than a broken old man. He would have to get the story from Harry later. For now, he pulled Harry even further away from the rest of the group. He looked intently into the young man's sparkling green eyes. It wasn't until then that he noticed the overwhelming sense of power that this young man projected. _I'll have to hear about this later, too_.

"What's the problem, Professor?"

Snape stared at Harry, boring his black eyes into those green ones. The young wizard calmly stared back at the man he now considered his friend. Snape suddenly broke into a huge grin.

"I have some very good news, Harry. I've been waiting for a long time to say this, and I prayed that I would someday get the chance to. I hope this redeems myself fully in your eyes," said Snape.

Harry looked at Snape, unsure of what was coming.

"It's Albus - Professor Dumbledore, Harry."

"What about him?" asked Harry, sharply.

"He's not dead!"


	3. Niveus Tumbus Expositus

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: I hope you enjoy! Please take the time to review if you can.**

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Chapter 3: Niveus Tumbus Expositus 

"What!" Ginny heard Harry yell. He flashed brilliantly for a moment and then returned to his normal state. He was staring at Professor Snape with his mouth hanging open. Ginny couldn't hear what they were saying when they were talking at normal levels, but the open disbelief and shock on Harry's usually guarded face was surprising. Something wasn't quite right. Ginny looked around at the others, all of whom were staring at Harry and Snape like she had been.

"What's wrong with them?" Hermione asked, fretfully. Ron just looked at her.

"Do you _always_ have to worry so much?" he asked her. She shot him a dirty look and ignored him.

"I wonder what they're talking about…" Hermione trailed off, receiving more scowls from Ron. She put her hands on her hips and held her chin high. There was slight _humph_. Ron shook his head.

Ginny glared at them. "What the hell is wrong with you two?" Hermione stared at her, somewhat shocked. Ron just eyed her. "We just ended the bloody war and all you can do is go back to arguing, the second it's over. Ron, stop being such a prat and be civil. Hermione, the war is _over_. Stop worrying so damned much." She walked off towards Harry and Snape. Hermione and Ron watched her go.

They turned toward each other and mumbled, "Sorry."

When Ginny was approaching Harry and Snape, they both turned toward her and came running. Harry grabbed her arm and pulled her along with him toward everyone. She gave him a questioning look. Harry perceived it as somewhat desperate, but she really just wanted to know what was going on.

"I'll explain in a little while," he quietly said to her.

Snape had already gotten to the group as Harry and Ginny arrived.

"—to Hogwarts immediately. The Aurors should report back to the Ministry and explain what has happened. Take _him_-," Snape said, rather disgustedly, as he pointed to Voldemort, "-to Azkaban."

There was a bustle of motion. Aurors were Disapparating – two with Voldemort – back to the Ministry in London. They had to tell everyone the extremely good news that the war was over. Harry and Ginny looked around, curiosity filling their faces.

"Where are we off to now?" Harry asked.

"Back to Hogwarts. All of you should Apparate into the faculty dining area. When I get back I will round up the rest of the staff and they will meet us there," Professor McGonagall instructed. There were Disapparitions left and right as Snape, McGonagall, Tonks, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny left. Harry hung back for a moment.

A slight breeze picked up across the grassy field, blowing the grass and his hair around. Harry marveled at nature – it was so unaware and unconcerned with people like Voldemort and what he had done. It just continued on like it always had. He stared over the hedges at the fortress. Voldemort was gone. Most of the Death Eaters had been killed or captured. Snape hadn't died. Dumbledore…was…alive… _That's impossible_, Harry told himself. _Don't get your hopes up. Snape wasn't making any sense. Whatever happened down there must have addled his brains._ It was impossible for Harry to not get his hopes up, though. _If he is alive…no…it can't be true…Just don't think about it right now._

Harry sighed. It was a deep, contented, yet strangely hollow sound. His responsibility to the world had been fulfilled, but somehow he knew that he would always respond to the call if it were needed again. He just was that kind of person: selfless, kind, and humble. He would never admit these things to himself, which accounted somewhat for the hollowness. There was something missing – there always had been. He looked around wearily for a moment. _I guess it really is over._ Harry Disapparated.

----------

Harry looked around the staff dining room. All those that he had come to know and respect during the war were seated in this room. His friends, his mentors, his teachers, and people who had fought alongside him were all here. School was still in session as it was only the middle of April. They had left in the middle of class two days earlier because the Order had finally determined that the time to strike was right.

They never planned on letting Voldemort make the first move, because everyone knew how devastating that could have been. If he had made a real strike against Hogwarts, the war could have been lost. They had all agreed that, when the time was right, they would strike against Voldemort and his fortress, driving deep into the heart of darkness. Except for those that had been at the fortress, none in the room knew what had transpired yet. Some were looking eager; others were looking fearful.

"Alright, I have some news-" Snape started, but he was cut off by McGonagall.

"Before we hear any _news_, I'd like to know what happened down there. They said you…died." She looked quickly toward Harry. "What _happened_?"

The question was more directed at Snape than Harry, but Harry answered.

"I'll tell you what I know, and then Snape – that is, Professor Snape, can fill in the rest." Harry desperately wanted Snape to continue what he'd been saying about Professor Dumbledore earlier, but he knew that these people had a right to hear what had happened first. He took a deep breath and plunged into the story, beginning with their arrival at the fortress and ending with their arrival in the dining room. He left out some details, such as what he supposed was the true extent of his new power and his tantalizing kiss with Ginny. He didn't feel comfortable with everyone knowing about those, yet.

When he finished and looked closely from face to face, some were looking at him with gratitude, others with wonder, and the rest were looking at Snape curiously. Harry had told them how he had seen him die, and then had seen him alive, but offered no explanation. He had none. He still didn't know what happened.

"So, Professor Snape-" Harry began, but Snape cut him off.

"Please, Harry, and you three as well, call me Severus," Snape said, smiling a little mischievously with his thin lips. His angled features looked even sharper when a genuine smile creased his usually scowling lips. Harry thought the change was remarkable.

"Er, alright, Severus…what _did_ happen down there? I – we – _saw_ you get hit with Lucius's _Avada Kedavra_."

Snape sighed. He wasn't sure what happened. He had already replayed the scene in his mind a hundred times since Harry had revived him – _I still have to ask him how he did that_, he thought, distractedly. He looked up and saw all of the faces had turned toward him, staring expectantly.

"Well, I'm not sure exactly," Snape began. "It was just those four and I in that last antechamber. There were twelve Death Eaters, just waiting there. They immediately started firing at us, so we didn't have any time to think.

"I started countering and attacking immediately, as did you four. It was tough, but it was going smoothly until there was only Lucius and Pettigrew left. Neither had done much until that point, but it was immediately evident that their abilities had vastly improved.

"I'm not sure how to describe it. The air was completely filled with the Killing Curse. They were firing them off quicker than I'd ever seen. I remember seeing you four doing your best just to stay out of their way, and I wasn't faring much better. They were everywhere. It's weird, being surrounded by death like that. The Killing Curse does not discriminate – it destroys whatever it touches.

"After a few minutes of that, Harry tried to stun Pettigrew, but it connected with a _Kedavra_ and they exploded. We were all distracted for a moment, and that was all Lucius needed. He rounded on Ginny and fired one, but I saw there was no time. I leapt in front of it. I saw it hit me…" Snape said, thinking about the last second before everything went black. He couldn't understand why it had spared him…_wait…that must be it._

"The essence of _Avada Kedavra_ is kind of a sickly whitish-green color. It's impossible to not recognize if someone is using it. That is definitely what it was. But there was something else, right at the end before everything went dark, which was different. The leading edge of the curse, the part that hit me first, flashed an emerald color. That is the last thing I remember, until Harry woke me up." Snape looked at Harry, focusing briefly on his eyes.

"Come to think of it, the emerald color that I just described is exactly the same color as Harry's eyes."

Necks audibly creaked as everyone turned their heads to stare at Harry, but he didn't notice. He was staring at Snape.

"My eyes? That doesn't mean anything—"

He stopped. An exasperated sigh from Hermione had cut him off. He looked at her and giving her his sweetest expression, said, "Yes?" He was tempted to bat his eyelashes at her.

Hermione heard some sniggers from around the room, but chose to ignore them. "It's pretty clear what happened, Harry. I'm surprised that you couldn't see it." She glared at him. He said nothing and did nothing. His face was passive, except for the corners of his mouth. They were twitching slightly. She saw that he was doing all he could not to laugh at her.

Hermione rolled her eyes and continued. "To me it is, at least. Anyways, the emerald flash that Severus was just describing reminded me of your aura – you know, the one that happened just before you…broke Voldemort. I think that was just a subconscious manifestation of what you could do. Snape was going to die – the curse was going to directly for him – so your mind took action of its own accord and blocked enough of it so he could live." She stopped talking and sat back, looking quite pleased with herself.

Harry looked at her for another second, and then shrugged his shoulders. "Sounds reasonable. I had no idea what happened, so it had to be subconscious, if that really was what occurred."

"_Avada Kedavra_ is supposed to be unblockable and uncounterable, though," squeaked Professor Flitwick. Everyone knew that he was a dueling champion and couldn't resist a little trivia on it.

Hermione scowled at him for a moment, forgetting briefly that he was one her teachers. "Weren't you listening to what Harry was saying?" Surprised by her own vehemence, she continued, more lightly, explaining to a surprised Flitwick what Harry had done. He still didn't look convinced.

Harry saw this and said, "Well, let me demonstrate it. Everyone move back here. Severus, if you will?" He raised an eyebrow at Snape, who nodded and moved over to him.

"Wait just a minute! What do you think you are doing?" McGonagall yelled at them, obviously a bit flustered. "You can't fire a Killing Curse in Hogwarts. It's…it's just not right!" she finished. She was red in the face. She didn't believe they had the gall to use _Avada Kedavra_ in her dining room.

Snape laughed lightly, and his lips curled back into that same smile. "Don't worry, Minerva, I'm sure _Harry_ here can handle it. Besides, how could he resist a chance to show off?" Harry shook his head and marveled at Severus's newfound ability to joke with him. It would be awhile before he got used to it.

McGonagall glared at them very coldly for a few moments, but _humphed_ her approval.

"Thank you," said Snape, rather serenely. He looked at Harry. "Shall we?"

Harry nodded and closed his eyes. _Dumbledore is alive! He has to be. Snape seems so confident about it!_ That was all he needed, and went through the transformation. It was very rapid this time, taking only a few seconds to complete. He ignored the shocked gasps from those who hadn't seen him like this yet and looked to Snape. He nodded again.

"Alright," Snape said, coldly. He closed his eyes for a moment, picturing Lucius Malfoy. It was all he needed. He raised his wand and pointed it away from everyone, toward the back of the room. "_Avada Kedavra!_" There was a rushing sound, like the air escaping from a sealed tunnel, and a sickly green light flew from the end of his wand.

Just as it was about to hit the back wall, Harry put up his hand. It stopped. There were more shocked gasps from behind him, louder this time. Flitwick could hardly contain his excitement. He was looking from the green light to Harry and back again, almost jumping where he was standing. Harry beckoned and closed his hand, drawing it toward him and shrinking it. He puffed out a little breath and it was gone.

There was a noise and a scurrying behind him, and then he was surrounded. People were pummeling questions into him, very rapidly. He descended, as if it would make a difference, and tried to get them all to listen to him. Flitwick wanted to learn how to do it, McGonagall was still scolding him for such a dangerous exercise on school grounds, and the other Professors were saying similar things. Harry, Hermione, and Ginny just watched with smiles on their faces as Harry was bombarded.

Harry put his wand to his throat and muttered, "_Sonorus._" He cleared his throat, and everyone could hear it. They slowly stopped their yammering and all was momentarily silent. "Listen, I'm not sure what's going on, so please do not ask me to test these powers until I have had a chance to sort a few things out. I don't want to hurt any of you or anyone else in this school. So, for now, why don't we all just sit back down and listen to what Severus has to say. _Quietus_."

Most of them were thinking the exact same thing: _He sounds so much like Dumbledore._ That was enough for them, so they all took their seats again. Harry sat down next to Ginny, slid his arm around her waist, and smiled at her. She smiled back.

"Alright, now that Filius has had his curiosity fulfilled, shall I get on with it?" Snape asked, coolly. The nods he received were enough for him, so he continued on. Harry could hardly contain himself. This is what he had been waiting for since Snape had told him the impossible.

"As I told Harry a little while ago, I have some news for you all. I'm sure it will shock most of you, but I'm glad to say that it is extremely _good_ news." He looked around, watching as the curiosity grew on most of the faces that were now turned toward him. He caught Harry's eye and saw a twinkle. It caught him off guard. It reminded him so much of—

"Well?" said Remus Lupin, very impatiently. Lupin was usually a very patient man, but something about the way Snape was talking had him more than a little excited. He had his arm around Tonks, who was also waiting for it.

"Dumbledore is alive," said Snape, flatly.

Silence. Deafening silence. It took a moment for everyone to register what Snape had said. When they did, though, the deafening silence turned into a deafening squawk. People started shouting at once. Food and drink went flying as people waved their hands rapidly. Poor Flitwick was knocked backwards when he tried to stand on the table to get a better look. Ron caught him and set him back in his chair, smiling at his Professor's antics, but also extremely animated about what Snape had said. _Dumbledore. Alive? Bloody hell!_

Snape looked on for a few moments, smiling inwardly at the chaos the simple sentence had caused. He couldn't blame them, though, because all of them believed that he killed the man he had just announced was alive. And if Dumbledore really were alive…then everyone would be happy. Snape snorted to himself. _Happy is an understatement._ He held up his hands for silence. They slowly quieted down, but not completely.

"How can that be?" demanded a red-faced Ginny. Dumbledore had always told Ginny that he'd be there for Harry and the others, but he had left them at the end of last year. Ginny still had a hard time believing that she'd never see his kind old face and his twinkling eyes again – _well, I think I saw those eyes again today_, she thought as she glanced at Harry. He was looking intently at Snape.

They all quieted down as Ginny had asked the question that was on all of their minds.

"It is not my place to tell you that, Ginny," Snape said, using her first name for the first time. "If you all would accompany me down to the lake, I'm sure _someone_ would like to explain." They all looked at each for comprehension, but resigned themselves to following the mysterious Snape as he led the way out of the dining room. They passed through the Great Hall, dodging a thousand questions from everyone who was eating lunch.

"Everyone will remain seated and continue eating! We will be back shortly," McGonagall said, very loudly. They all quieted down and returned to their lunch, but their curiosity was not hidden from their faces. Many looked to Harry for answers, but he seemed to be focused intently on something. They passed out of the Great Hall and through the large Entrance Hall, and finally out onto the grounds.

Snape was striding forward, toward the west side of the lake. It took a second before many realized where he was heading as they followed, but as the white marble got closer they understood. They were going to the White Tomb. They were going to Dumbledore's final resting place.

Snape stopped a few feet from it, and they all assembled behind him. He turned around to face them.

"I promise that all will be explained very soon. Harry, will you please come here?" Snape asked.

Harry did as he was asked, even though he had no idea what was going on. His brain was on fire – could it really be true? He stood beside Snape, who had turned back towards the imposing marble structure.

He started speaking very quietly to Harry, so that no one else could hear. "See those two smalls knots at either corner of the Tomb?" Harry nodded. "When I say to, place your wand in that one over there. Twist it and say _Niveus Tumbus Expositus_. Got it?"

Harry looked at him, a thousand questions showing on his face. Snape could see it.

"Just trust me." Harry nodded. This man had given up his life willingly for his friends once, so he knew he could trust him. "Alright, go put your wand there."

Snape walked to the other end of the Tomb and placed his wand in the small notch. Harry did the same, opposite of him. He looked at Harry, who nodded.

They both twisted their wands and said, "_Niveus Tumbus Expositus!_" They stepped back.

Nothing happened right away. There was just a silence. There wasn't even a breeze that could break the warm monotony of a nice April afternoon. Then, with a low rumble, the Tomb started to vibrate. The rumbling became very loud and a dark dot appeared near the top of the front of the Tomb. It quickly spread, racing in a line around the Tomb. It was separating the lid from the rest of the structure.

There was an intensely bright flash, and the lid was gone. There had been marble there before, but now it was just gone. The Tomb now stood open from the top. All watching held their breath. Some secretly were disgusted that the Tomb had just been defiled, but they hoped upon hope that what Snape had said was true, even if it was impossible.

Harry waited. He looked at Snape, who was staring expectantly at the top of the Tomb. Harry looked around and saw that most of the rest were doing the same. Ginny, however, was looking at him, with a deeply questioning look in her eyes. She looked a little hurt that Dumbledore's tomb has just been opened like that. Harry shrugged apologetically and turned his eyes to the Tomb. He was about to say something, but stopped and gasped. He heard others do the same thing.

Fingers appeared over the edge, followed by the back of a crinkled hand. The top of a purple hat then came into view. And then, the profile of a man rose into sight. Harry heard a few cries of surprise and happiness.

"Harry, my boy! It's so good to see you!" Dumbledore exclaimed.

The words of the mentor and friend that Harry thought he had lost forever turned him into a blubbering idiot. He was absolutely gob smacked.

"Wha…?" Harry questioned. It wasn't exactly directed at anyone in particular, even though he was staring up into the face of none other than Albus Dumbledore. His brain had ceased to function – no coherent thoughts were present.

Dumbledore merely smiled that familiar knowing grin, and said, "I was expecting something of the sort," he said, referring to Harry's slack face. He looked around at the others and most of them had the same expression. Dumbledore chuckled.

"Some welcome this is! People! Friends! How are you all?" he said happily to them. Some were dislodged from their stupor and immediately began yammering things at him and others around them.

McGonagall was the first to address him directly. "Albus! What in the name of Merlin is going on here?" Her voice choked a bit, adding an interesting dimension to her usually set face. "We thought…Harry _saw_…you die?" It was more of a question than a statement. Dumbledore shook his head knowingly.

With grace that belied his age, he put a hand to the edge of the Tomb and propelled himself over the edge, landing on the ground with soft _thud_. He smoothed his robes. The others had mostly quieted down now and were looking at him. He was about to open his mouth and say something, but all that came out was _oof!_

Someone had launched himself into him from behind. Dumbledore turned slightly in the firm hug a young man was giving him, and saw immediately that it was Harry. He smiled down at his young charge.

"Harry, Harry, how are you, my young friend?" Dumbledore queried. He heard a muffled response and saw Harry look up at him. His glowing green eyes were a bit wet.

"How is this possible?" Harry asked him. _I saw him get hit with spell. I _saw_ the life swept from eyes._

"All will be explained, Harry. All will be explained," Dumbledore said, calmly. Harry took a step back and watched as he turned to address the rest of the people scattered around. Harry suddenly felt another wave of emotion wash over him. It wasn't happiness – it was something more. It was relief. The war was over, yes, but Harry had felt very bitter since the night of his mentor's "death". _Not at Snape, though. We know why he had to do it. Just at everything that could have been different if he had been here. Molly, Arthur, the Aurors…ugh._ Now that Dumbledore was apparently – and shockingly – alive and well, Harry felt a small void in him fill up.

Dumbledore held up his hands. His commanding presence was felt at once, reminding them all that this was their Headmaster in front of them. They shut up quickly and paid rapt attention.

"The answers to your questions will come. I would just like to take a moment here and revel in the fact that the war is over."

_Wait, what? How could he possibly know that,_ thought Harry. There was obviously a lot more to this than Snape had ever let on.

"Now, let us congregate in the faculty dining area. I promise to explain this all there." Dumbledore strode off towards the castle.

McGonagall found her voice. "Albus, wait. The wards in the dining area have been tuned to members of the Order and also to Professors. We tuned them to your magical signature as well. You can Apparate straight there."

Dumbledore raised and eyebrow at her, sparking the twinkling in his eyes. He gave a quirky smile and Disapparated. Most people were still too stunned to say much, so they quickly followed him. Harry and Ginny were the last two. She walked over to him, watching as he just stared off towards the castle.

"What are you thinking?" she asked quietly.

"Huh?"

"I said, what are you thinking?"

"Oh, just…wow." He quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Yeah, I know how you feel."

"What the hell just happened?" he asked, more to himself than her.

She smiled. "I have no idea, but I'm sure he will tell us. Let's go." They both Disapparated into the dining area.

The din in the room was a drastic change from the calm down by the lake, where there had only been a slight breeze to disrupt the air. In here, however, people were running around frantically, trying to gather their thoughts and also to talk to Dumbledore. He just stood there calmly for a few moments, silent chuckles in his eyes, and listened to everyone talk at him at once. Harry and Ginny took their seats and watched this. Dumbledore glanced at them and then help up a hand.

"Ah, I think Harry and Ginny have the right idea. Why don't you all take a seat? I will begin the explanation at once." Dumbledore strode to head of the table and promptly ran into McGonagall, who had been striding to the same seat.

"Oh, sorry Albus. Habits die hard…"

"Not to worry, Minerva." And, more quietly, to her he said, "It's great to see you again. You don't a look a day older." Harry saw a small smile on McGonagall's lips as she took her seat adjacent to Dumbledore, who had sat down in the head chair. People hushed and looked to their Headmaster, curiosity and shock still written on many faces.

Dumbledore smiled pleasantly at each of their faces, stopping briefly at Harry's with a small wink, and launched into what he had to say.

"First off, I'm curious as to what you already know?" he asked everyone.

Silence greeted him, however. Some people knew very little, and others knew much more, which still wasn't a lot.

"Not much," Harry began. All eyes turned to him. "Severus came back last fall, saying that he had been found out by Voldemort and that he had to go somewhere. He was incoherent, and was actually in danger of being killed here. Everyone knew what he'd done…" Harry trailed off, thinking about that night once again. The green light, the expression on Dumbledore's face, him flying off the wall…

He looked around and saw that people were still looking at him, so he continued. "Anyways, he told us that it had all been planned and that you," he said, looking at Dumbledore, "had wanted him to kill you. You can imagine the reaction that _that_ news got, so he consented to using the Pensieve to show everyone the memory, as well as some Veritaserum."

Harry was watching Dumbledore carefully, who just nodded for him to continue. "There were obvious holes in the memory, but the memory itself clearly wasn't tampered with. We saw you telling him what you wanted him to do, regardless of what might happen." Harry finished. There was something bothering him, though, and Dumbledore could tell.

"What is it, Harry?" he prodded.

"Eh?"

"Something is quite clearly weighing on your mind. Go ahead and ask if you want."

Harry sighed. Albus Dumbledore was one of the most perceptive people he had ever known, and his time away from everyone – whatever may have happened to him – did not change that fact.

"It's just, I can clearly remember you…pleading for your life," Harry said, looking intently at the older man's face and forgetting the others in the room for a moment. He could still hear that voice in his head, and he never wanted to experience it firsthand again. When Dumbledore resulted to pleading, it didn't mean good things.

The old man only nodded at Harry, however. "A good question, and one that I will most certainly answer. I was not pleading for my life – on the contrary, actually. I was pleading for Severus to follow through with our plan."

"But _what was_ this plan?" interrupted McGonagall. She looked a little miffed.

Dumbledore looked thoughtful for a moment. "I guess it is good to start from the beginning." He paused, holding his audience captive, and then continued on. "Severus and I have been discussing for years the consequences of Voldemort killing me. Voldemort's powers are not – excuse me, _were_ not – limited to normal spells and incantations. He had the ability to inhabit the soul of the person he killed, as I think you all know, to create a Horcrux. Undoubtedly, if he had succeeded in getting to me, he would have attempted to do so.

"Excusing my modesty for a moment, I am a wizard of formidable powers. None of you in this room, with the possible exception of Harry, have a true idea of what I can do. If Voldemort had gotten a hold of those powers and made my body a Horcrux after destroying my mind, he would have had a fairly indestructible segment of his soul.

"You might be asking yourselves why I couldn't just use these powers against him to defeat him, and yes, I could have, but then his followers would have been exposed to it and future Dark Lords would have known about it. They would have tried to use it in themselves; it would have only taken a few years for them to figure out how to unlock it.

"But, I digress. Severus and I have been working on a potion for years that has one use and one use only – upon getting hit with an _Avada Kedavra_ the drinker is immediately rendered unconscious, rather than killed. This unconsciousness is so deep that the drinker – me – appeared to be dead. This was the plan. I would drink the potion and, because I knew the deal that young Master Malfoy had made with Voldemort, use him as the means to my end. I saw my opportunity and took it, but Draco hesitated.

"Severus came upon us at that time and observed what was happening. I could tell that he, also, wasn't going to follow through with it, even though he had made the Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa." He looked at Harry. "The pleading that you heard was for Severus to carry on with our plan. I did not want him losing his life for the Unbreakable Vow and I knew that it was time for the potion to be of use.

"What you saw, Harry, was not Severus killing me in cold blood. I am sorry to have made you watch that, but it was not what you thought. He was merely acting as a catalyst for the potion, and unfortunately hitting me with a Killing Curse was what he needed to do."

Silence greeted Dumbledore's pause, in which heavy breathing could be heard. People were trying to process what he had jus told them all – he had "sacrificed" himself so that Voldemort wouldn't get a hold of his powers.

Harry was suddenly furious. He couldn't explain it to himself, but he was beyond angry. It wasn't a cold fury or even a temper tantrum; rather, it was absolute disbelief fueled by the longstanding knowledge that his mentor had been killed before his very eyes. He could feel something happening to him, but he ignored it.

A fist slamming the table startled everyone, and they looked to the source. Harry had gotten up and was standing over the table, leaning on it with two hands and glaring at Dumbledore, his chest heaving. They could feel a trickle of power slowly building from him.

"Is that all you have to say?" Harry demanded of him. "You thought it was best to hide your powers so other Dark Lords wouldn't find out? Excuse me for saying this, _Albus_, but I don't accept that. We could have _used_ you. Do you have any idea how many people lost their lives because you weren't there?" Harry was breathing very heavily now, almost gasping with each breath.

Dumbledore eyed Harry calmly for a moment, taking in this new power that was coming off of him. It was something like…anger? Disbelief? He had no idea, but he knew that it was about to break loose any moment.

"Harry," he began, calmly, "if you would just take a moment to think-"

"No!" Harry bellowed, surprised a little at his own outburst but unable to control the way he was feeling. Molly's face popped into his mind, and he felt a familiar drop and all went blank for a second. When he was aware of himself again, only a few seconds later, he briefly noticed that people were staring at him in shock. _Why is there a red glow in here?_ Harry thought to himself, before continuing on.

"I don't want to hear that other Dark Lords couldn't know about these powers. _What about this one? _How many people could you have saved if you had taken care _of this one?_ The future is the future, damn it! Now is more important than the future. If you had thought of all of those people maybe they would have a fucking _future_!" Harry rarely used that word, and never in the presence of adults, but he was too angry to even notice.

"Think about Molly… and Arthur… and everyone else! They died for this war. _They gave up their bloody lives so that we could all live on, and you can sit there and tell me you could have ended it ages ago?_ What about Sirius, huh? He stayed locked up in that shithole headquarters for months until he went crazy and got himself killed. How many times in those months could you have gone out and finished it?" Harry paused to take a breath, and noticed that Dumbledore had an expression Harry had never really seen on his face before. Open shock.

"What? Didn't think I had it in me to yell and throw a tantrum at you? Well, I've got news for you, I fought this bloody war and I've watched my friends suffer and lose their lives. How did you expect me to take it?" However, Harry got the feeling that this wasn't why Dumbledore was staring at him, because everyone else had the same look. He finally had the sense to take a moment and turn his brain back on. Something felt different.

Harry looked down at himself, and what he saw was more than a little of a shock. He immediately new that he had "ascended" to his higher power, but it was not the same as before. His aura was a deep, boiling red, which had caused the air around it to burn and sizzle as if it were on fire. His robes whipped against his body and his hair was flying around. Little shards of the aura shot off into the air and turned black before dissipating. _Er…oops,_ he thought, rather resignedly.

Harry huffed out a breath and let the power drain away, returning to his normal state. He sat down slowly, never once returning his gaze to Dumbledore. When he had been yelling, he wasn't thinking. Now that he actually heard what he had said again in his my mind, he was ashamed of himself. Dumbledore had never lost it with him like that, and Harry had flown off the handle. He heard someone clear their throat, and looked up into the sparkling eyes of Albus Dumbledore. Harry was a little surprised to see a sad smile on his face.

"I knew that many of you would feel that way, and I'm truly sorry for all the pain and anguish that I have caused you all." He looked at Harry, who cringed away from his gaze very slightly.

"I am not upset with you, Harry. I am glad that you have found the need to express your emotions a little more freely than you used to. A lot more freely, actually," he said, eyeing Harry with some interest. "As I once told you, I am a foolish old man and much of what I do comes out of the want to protect the younger generations. I should have known better, though. Harry, you have seen as much at 17 as I have in all of my life. Maybe more. I should have known how you would take this and all that I can say is that I'm truly sorry." When Dumbledore finished, there was a slight huskiness to his voice.

_No…once was enough. I'm not going to make this man cry again._ Harry stood and walked over to him. He looked at the Headmaster before him for a moment, and then embraced him a tight hug. There were some barely audible sighs around the room, but for the most part everyone had remained strangely quiet.

So that only Dumbledore could hear it, Harry apologized. "I'm sorry, Professor Dumbledore. I don't know what happened. I shouldn't have yelled at you. I know that you always have our best interests in mind, and for that I'm grateful."

Dumbledore patted Harry on the back. "Call me Albus. And not to worry, Harry, I'm much more interested in what you just showed me than what you said to me. Everyone has a right to vent their frustrations once in awhile, and I do not hold it against you."

Harry leaned back and looked at him. He was sincere and Harry nodded at him. "Now, I'm curious, is that how you beat Voldemort? Those powers?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry smiled and shook his head. "Not exactly, but something to that effect." Dumbledore nodded and Harry returned to his seat, trying to avoid the stares of everyone in the room. He was quite embarrassed about his little outburst.

"You will excuse Harry for what he said. He had every right to it. Now, where were we?"

"So you were just in that Tomb for a year?" asked Hermione, her curiosity overcoming her shock from Harry's words.

"Precisely, my dear. Severus would open the Tomb, thereby waking me, when the time was right. That time was either when Voldemort was dead or when I was desperately needed as a last resort. And if you had died, Severus, the secret wouldn't have died with you, would it have?" he asked, looking at Snape. He had remained quiet throughout this entire proceeding, letting Dumbledore inform everyone of what they had planned. Severus shook his head.

"His will includes a full explanation of this and listed the names of people that should be informed about it if he had died. I am very thankful that none of that was needed, however, and that my return could signal the end of the war rather than the desperation of it."

"It almost went to my will," Snape said, very quietly. Dumbledore looked at him, curiosity filling his lined face. "If not for Harry, Lucius Malfoy would have killed me. Harry's ability to counteract the Killing Curse is the only thing that saved me." Dumbledore looked at him for a moment, and then nodded in understanding.

"Alright, I would like to call a meeting for every student and Professor in the Great Hall. Some things need to be explained to everyone," Dumbledore said to Minerva. She tapped her throat and muttered something to connect her to the school's magical loudspeaker.

"Attention, students. This is your Headmistress—er, Professor speaking. I would like to have all students and faculty report to the Great Hall for a meeting. This will take place in five minutes. Drop what you are doing and report at once. Thank you." She tapped her throat and disconnected herself.

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The Great Hall was filled with everyone currently at Hogwarts. All of the seats were filled with curious faces, looking up to the podium to see just what was going on. These assemblies, while not unheard of, were rare and usually meant something big had happened. Many knew that Harry and his friends had left a few days before because of something to do with the war, so they expected something about that. Also, few had failed to notice McGonagall referring to herself as a Professor rather than the Headmistress, and wanted to know the reason behind this.

McGonagall stepped up the podium and raised a hand, silencing the Hall in a heartbeat. "I know that you're all wondering why I've called you hear on such short notice, but I think that explanation is best left to someone who knows it better. I am very happy to present to you, once again, Headmaster Dumbledore!" Shocked gasps greeted her words and even sharper sounds met the appearance of their long-thought-dead Headmaster as he strode out of the faculty dining room.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny couldn't help but snicker to themselves as they watched the reactions. Their faces had most likely been mirror images only an hour ago when Dumbledore had appeared from the Tomb.

The noise grew in intensity as Dumbledore neared the podium, reverberating off the stone walls and amplifying itself. It was cacophonous, to say the least, but it abated instantly when he held up his hand.

"What a wonderful sight, indeed. So many familiar faces – I am glad to have returned to you all. I know you all have questions-" he was saying, but was cut off by an anxious fourth-year Ravenclaw.

"We were all told you were killed! We went to your funeral!" she said, very loudly.

Dumbledore smiled at her and continued. "As I was saying, I'm sure you all have questions, and I thought that _that_ one might be the first. I was not killed, as can be seen, and I'm sorry that you had to attend my funeral. I was doing important work for the war, and I could no longer jeopardize the safety of Hogwarts and you all with my presence. I had to leave and make it appear that I wasn't coming back."

"So why are you back now?" another anxious student called out.

"Because, my friend, the war is no longer a threat," he answered, simply. The looks of confusion were expected, so elaborated. "Voldemort-" half the audience cringed at the name "-was destroyed earlier today and the Dark Forces are scattered and will be rounded up. The war is over." Dumbledore watched as pandemonium broke out in the Great Hall, smiling ever so slightly to himself as he did. He knew that his words would have this effect, but there was no way around it. They had the right to know the war that had been raging for all of their lives was now over. They did not have to live in fear anymore. Oppression, tyranny, and discrimination were no longer a threat.

He held up his hand again, and was instantly rewarded with a silent hall. It still amused him that his hand could have that kind of effect. "It is Saturday afternoon. With this news comes a bit of a holiday for you all. All classes until next Thursday are canceled. You may take this time to visit with your families. Thursday night at 7 o'clock there will another meeting here, when things will be explained more fully. For now, enjoy your time off and be safe. Leave the grounds only if you plan to go home for a few days." He left the podium and walked down the Great Hall to the seventh year Gryffindor table.

He felt the gazes of many people on him as he passed, but it did not bother him. When he arrived at the table where the four who had ended the war sat, he said, "Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny – would you oblige an old man and meet him in his office at 8 tonight?" he inquired of them.

They looked at each other briefly and nodded. Harry said, "Yeah, Albus, we'll be there."

"Good. I'm looking forward to it. Oh, and bring your wands." His eyes twinkled mischievously, and he turned on his heel and left.


	4. The True Power of Albus Dumbledore

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: Enjoy! Please read and review!**

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Chapter 4: The True Power of Albus Dumbledore 

"What do you suppose this is about?" asked Ron. The Gryffindor Four were making their way to the Headmaster's office.

"Honestly, Ron, have you already forgotten what we did today?" asked Hermione. She gave Ron an exasperated look.

"Er, well no, of course not. I was just wondering what more-"

"I'm sure we'll find out. Stop asking stupid questions, you big prat!" Ginny scolded her brother.

Ron gave her a mutinous look, but said nothing more. Harry had remained quiet the entire time, and Ron gave him a questioning look.

"What?" Harry asked.

"You haven't said anything in awhile," Ron replied.

Harry smirked at him. "It's usually Hermione that notices these things. Taking some pointers from her?"

Ron's ears went a bit red, and he grinned a little. "Can't help it. She's insufferable."

"Ron! How dare you…wait, where did you learn 'insufferable'?" Hermione questioned.

Ron was offended. "Excuse me? I may not have my nose stuck in bloody books half of the day but I'm not stupid. I would have thought by now you had seen that."

"Well, it's just I've never heard you use words like that!" spat back Hermione.

"Maybe if you listened a little more…" Ron began, and him and Hermione went into a full-blown Weasley-Granger argument. Harry and Ginny looked at each other and, suppressing grins, rolled their eyes. They had heard it all many times before.

It went on and escalated as they neared the gargoyle. They stopped in front of it, but Hermione and Ron didn't notice, as they were still going at it. The gargoyle stared back impassively, absorbing the scene with cold, lifeless eyes.

"Would you two shut up?" Harry asked, trying to hide the small annoyance he was feeling from his voice.

Ron and Hermione looked at him, cut off by his words.

"That's better. Coppercorn Candies," he said, to the Gargoyle. It rolled back and revealed the circular stairs. The four got on as it started to revolve upwards, towards the door of the Headmaster's office.

They got off and Harry knocked on the door.

"Enter!" came from within.

Harry opened the door and moved into the office, with his three friends following him.

"Ah, hello! So nice to see you this evening. Care for any Coppercorn Candies?" Dumbledore asked them as they took their seats opposite his desk. They all shook their heads.

"Alright then. Some day it has been for you four. Some day indeed." His eyes sparkled as they traveled from Ron to Hermione, to Ginny and finally to Harry. They lingered a bit on Harry, taking in the young man's confident posture. Harry spoke.

"Sir – Albus – what's going to happen to the rest of the Death Eaters?"

"And why do you ask Harry?"

"Well, there really weren't as many as we were expecting at the fortress. Maybe a few hundred, at most; although, all of the senior Death Eaters were there." Harry mumbled something else after that.

"What was that Harry?"

"I said, I'll bet they wish they weren't there," Harry said, meeting Dumbledore's eyes. The twinkle dimmed a little. _Interesting…what did I say?_ Harry thought.

"I haven't truly thanked you four for what you did today, so the first thing that I want to do is just that. On behalf of myself, Hogwarts, and the rest of Wizarding and Muggle worlds, I offer the deepest thanks and gratitude. You four saved countless lives and put an end to what could have been a very long and painful war.

"Now, as to your question about Death Eaters, they are being rounded up by Ministry Aurors as we speak. They could feel the death of Voldemort through their marks, and most have given up willingly. Some had to be forcefully detained, but for the most part the round up has been painless."

"What will be their punishment?" questioned Ginny. She hoped they were all sentenced to the Veil.

"The punishment for carrying a Dark Mark is a life sentence in Azkaban. I'm sure that, unless they have specific evidence against someone, enough for a death sentence, then that is where most of them will go."

"But, Professor, didn't the Dementors flee Azkaban and join Voldemort?" Hermione looked at Dumbledore, a confused look on her face.

"Please, all four of you can call me Albus. Yes, they did flee, but the Ministry decided long ago that if they ever left again they would hire Muggle guards. They have worked spectacularly and the prison is a place that is no long devoid of any happiness."

"Why shouldn't it be?" asked Harry, rather coldly.

Dumbledore looked at him for a moment before answering. "Well, Harry, even criminals have some rights, and I have long thought that the destruction of their souls was worse than a death sentence to the Veil. The prison is a place of containment, not a place meant to drive their minds and souls out of their bodies."

"They supported the torture, murder, and rape of children. Even if they didn't participate, they did nothing to stop it. I personally wouldn't have had that much mercy for them." Harry's voice was like iron. There was no remorse in it, and worse, no feeling at all.

Ron and Hermione were a little shocked; Ginny eyed him somewhat warily; Dumbledore looked at Harry like a totally new person.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Harry. I'm rather surprised at how much your opinions on death seem to have changed," Dumbledore said, calmly. He watched for Harry's reaction, but none came. He sat expressionless.

"Why did you want us to bring our wands?" Ron asked, trying to end the uncomfortable silence that had descended.

"Ah yes, I almost forgot. Please hand them to me for a moment."

The four handed their wands to Dumbledore, who took out his own wand and muttered an incantation over them. Once he did that, he gave the wands back to the four young people. They noticed that the sparkle in his eyes had dimmed a little more.

"I have just tested your wands for the last several spells that were cast from them. The results are most curious…" he trailed off, eyeing the four in front of him. _I can't believe that they would use it. I would have thought that they could have found some other way to produce the desired incapacitation_, Dumbledore thought to himself.

"Curious?" queried Hermione.

"Indeed. I'm quite surprised that all four of you used _Avada Kedavra_ numerous times-"

"What would you have had us do?" Harry asked, looking Dumbledore directly in the eyes.

The sparkle drained entirely from the usually jovial gaze of the Headmaster. The lines in the old man's face lost their warmth and the smile that could be found at the corners of his lips was gone. The Headmaster no longer radiated strength and security – it was anger and a little betrayal.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny blanched from the sudden change in Dumbledore. They had never seen this side of him before. Harry, however, was not intimidated. He was still staring into the hard depths of Dumbledore's blue gaze, his emerald eyes meeting it.

"Again, I ask you, what would you have had us do?" Ginny looked at Harry. His face had become as hard Dumbledore's. His eyes held nothing and his features remained cold. She shivered at this Harry – it was much different than the normal one. He was pissed.

Hermione gazed at Dumbledore, a little fearfully. She had some idea of what he could do and the true limits of his powers, but nothing she'd ever read could prepare her for what he was like when he was really angry. He was more than angry – he was pissed.

"Anything but that, Harry." The voice of the Headmaster was icy.

"For example?" Harry replied. Ice met ice.

"They had to be killed?"

"They didn't deserve to live, Albus."

"I beg to differ, Harry. Everyone deserves life, even if they have taken it."

"And I beg to differ, Albus. Those men have raped little girls. They have tortured little boys. They have burned entire towns to the ground. They do not value life and therefore they do not deserve their own."

"So you have become the judge, jury and executioner, Harry?"

"If that's what it takes, then yes. The wizarding world felt the need to place this burden on me, and I will do anything to protect the people that I love. They were not going to hurt or abuse anyone else."

"I did not know you were a vindictive person, Harry."

"And I did not know that you cared so little about what they have done!" Harry's expressionless mask was fighting for control, and the twitching indicated that his anger was boiling near the surface.

Dumbledore, however, remained quiet and absolute in his anger. "I didn't care? I did not know you were such an accomplished _Legilimens_ so that you could read my mind."

"I don't have to read your mind. I know you're upset that we ended the worthless existence of a few Death Eaters; it's clear how you feel."

"I'm upset that you value human life so low, Harry."

Harry snapped. "How dare you accuse me of killing without purpose? WHERE WERE YOU? YOU DID NOT FIGHT. YOU CANNOT JUDGE OUR ACTIONS BECAUSE YOU WERE TOO COWARDLY TO HELP US!"

Dumbledore flinched. He hadn't been called a coward in a long time. His voice, if it was possible, became colder than ice. "I'm not judging your actions – I'm astounded that you could take a life so easily. I thought I knew you."

"If you knew me then you would know that I'd do anything to protect the innocent. If that means defiling myself with the Killing Curse, then so be it. As for the others, they didn't have to use it. They did so because they were as angry as I was about what the Death Eaters had been doing."

"You may not realize it now, but killing in anger is how Dark Lords are created. They crave power, and what greater power than taking someone's life?"

Harry flinched this time. "You think I'm in danger of becoming another Dark Lord? You really don't know me then, Albus. My anger was righteous, fueled by the knowledge that no more kids would be abused and no more people tortured. You think it felt good to kill those Death Eaters?"

Dumbledore said nothing.

"I hated it, but I couldn't let them live. Not after what they'd done."

"So if I did something heinous in your eyes, would you not hesitate in killing me?"

Harry was up in a flash and leaning over the Headmaster's desk. His eyes boiled with intensity as he stared at Dumbledore. Through gritted teeth, Harry said, "Why are we even having this discussion? You weren't there – you were hiding in your tomb – so you have no idea what the past year has been like."

"I wasn't 'hiding', Harry. I was making sure-"

"Oh, don't you dare give me that bullshit about not wanting another Dark Lord to see your powers! THAT MAKES ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE! Voldemort rampaged for almost a year while you were preserving your powers from him. _HOW MANY LIVES COULD YOU HAVE SAVED, ALBUS? HOW MANY LITTLE CHILDREN COULD STILL BE INNOCENT?_" Harry's breathing was ragged and his companions could feel the familiar trickle of power coming from him. Dumbledore ignored that for the moment.

"I've already told you how much I regret that decision. I would not have used the Killing Curse, however," Dumbledore stated, flatly.

"Let's see your 'true' powers then. Show us, so we don't keep thinking you're a big fucking phony." Hermione, Ron, and Ginny gasped when Harry said that. They could not believe that he had just insulted the Headmaster of Hogwarts as bad as he did. Harry knew what Dumbledore had done in the past and what his contributions to the Light were, but the man's stubbornness had him as angry as he'd ever been.

Dumbledore's eyes flashed predatorily, and stood abruptly. For an instant, Harry thought he was going to be struck, but squashed that thought when he saw Dumbledore begin to be surrounded by a white nimbus of light. Harry backed up and sat down, avoiding the gazes of the three people next to him.

It took him a second before he realized what he was watching – Dumbledore was going through the same transformation that Harry had discovered earlier in the day! He watched as the Headmaster was raised from the ground and shielded his eyes when the bright flash came. The _crack_ signified that the transformation was complete, and he looked up.

Dumbledore stood behind the desk, robes, hair, and long beard swirling as if a powerful fan was on him. The twinkling gaze was positively sparkling, but it was a cold sparkle. He was surrounded by a roiling deep red aura, with small bits of black swirling within and escaping from it.

This made Harry angrier, though. _He has the same fucking power that I do, and he did nothing to stop Voldemort. I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS!_ In a flash, Harry stood up and went through his own transformation. His aura matched Dumbledore's in color and intensity. Both men were furious with each other.

Hermione, Ron, and Ginny couldn't believe the power coming from the two people before them. It was just so…huge. Ginny was very close to Harry, and was quite uncomfortable with the pure anger that was coming off of him. She had never felt Harry this way before, and she knew it couldn't be good for him or the others in the room, especially if he or Albus lost control.

Harry broke the silence. "You could do this, too? I can't believe it!" He laughed, but it was without humor. It was cold and disbelieving. "Do you realize how easily Voldemort fell before me? It was no contest. _None at all._ You could have ended this shit years ago."

Dumbledore sighed almost inaudibly. Very few people new about this power, but seeing as Harry had used it to end Voldemort's reign, there was no longer a purpose in hiding it. He felt his anger draining away, but stayed ascended.

"I've said before that what I did was a great mistake, but it seems that nothing can convince you of forgiving me. I did not reveal these powers because they are easily abused. If a Dark Lord could cause this transformation within himself, we would all be in dire trouble. Only the greatest protectors of the Light have been able to use this particular lever of power, and all so far have chosen to keep it from the Dark."

"So it's my fault that I took advantage of the tools at my disposal to get rid of Voldemort?" Harry hoped that Dumbledore was not insinuating that.

"No, Harry, I would have expected you to preserve your own life and the lives of your friends. If that meant using this power that was revealed to you, then there is nothing wrong with that." Dumbledore sighed again, and let the power drain away. He was no longer angry enough to sustain it anymore. The aura disappeared and he went to sit in his chair once again.

"However, I still do not understand the change in you. The Harry I once knew is not the Harry that stands before me. You have changed, whether for the better or not I cannot fathom. One thing is certain, though: you are very powerful. I'm just glad that we have you for the Light."

Harry could feel his anger ebbing away, and let the transformation end. He also went to sit in his chair. He looked at his friends, who were all staring at him like they'd never seen him before. The look on Ginny's face was what hurt him the most – she was afraid of him. He sighed put his head in his hands.

Dumbledore eyed the boy with pity for a moment. He had been through so much. He'd carried the weight of the prophecy on his shoulders for several years now and had fulfilled it. The fate of the world had been in his hands and he had watched many loved ones die because he wasn't there to save them. He felt an irrational sense of guilt for those that he could not save and had blamed himself for Dumbledore's own 'death'.

Dumbledore thought to himself, _perhaps I've been a bit too hard on him. He did save us, after all. I still don't think using _Avada Kedavra_ is acceptable. We'll have to discuss this more at another time._

"I think we've said enough for tonight. You can all return to your dormitories," said Dumbledore, dismissing the four of them. They got up and walked toward the door. Harry was the only who didn't meet Dumbledore's eyes before he turned and left. As they got to the door, Dumbledore spoke.

"Actually Harry, could you stay for a minute?" he asked.

Harry flinched slightly, but turned and nodded at his Headmaster. He still didn't meet his eyes. He looked back at the three and nodded to them.

"I'll be down shortly."

They simply turned away from him, still reeling from what they had heard him say to Dumbledore. Ginny's gaze lingered a little longer than the other's, expressing her hurt and confusion to Harry. He met her eyes wearily, but frowned as she abruptly turned and left. He sighed and turned to look at Dumbledore.

"Yes, Albus?"

"Sit for a moment, please."

Harry walked over to the chair and sat down. The exhaustion of the day was catching up to him – he had ended Voldemort's reign of terror, revived Snape from death, and had seen someone come back from the 'dead'. It had been quite a long day!

"Look, I'm sorry-" Harry began, but stopped when Dumbledore held up a hand.

"There is no need to apologize. I just need to reevaluate my own opinions. I'd also like, at a later date, to find out just why your new attitudes are so much different than before."

Harry nodded mutely.

"Right now, though, I'd like some information. What of the Horcruxes?"

"They were all destroyed."

"Nagini as well?"

"She was guarding the room with the senior Death Eaters in it."

Dumbledore's face clouded for a second, but it was only a passing emotion.

"What is it? What did I say?" asked Harry.

"I would have thought she would be with Voldemort, but no matter."

There was a silence for a moment. Both men seemed to be deep in thought. Dumbledore finally broke it.

"What do you know about magic, Harry?"

It was Harry's turn to have a confused look on his face. The question seemed out of place and random for their current discussion.

"What do you mean?"

"Perhaps I should have been clearer. What _is_ magic?"

Harry had never heard that question asked before. He had never really thought about it, either. He had always assumed that magic was magic, much like consciousness was consciousness and could not be entirely explained.

"I'm not sure, Albus. I've never thought about it before. I suppose that it is something like our life force. It's just there."

"You are partly correct, Harry. But there is another part of it that few people realize or care about. Magic is taken for granted, which is a sad thing because it is a wondrous thing to behold if used correctly."

"What's the other part?"

"Well, that revolves around how and why magic is used. We both know that it is not freely and wantonly doled out. There has to be some thought, incantation, or purpose about using it before any results come of it."

Harry knew this much at least, so he just nodded, wondering where this was going.

"Strong magic, though, is directly tied to emotion. Anger, sadness, love…the strongest spells are created and used when the person is engulfed by the strongest emotions. The chemicals that are released into the body when these emotions take hold influence our magic and accent it. It is very interesting how the biological influences the magical."

"I've noticed that, but I've never put it into words, Albus."

"Ah, I'm sure you have. In regards to your new powers, though, do you have any idea why they suddenly are accessible?"

Harry shook his head, slowly. Actually, he did have a small idea. "Before it happened, Voldemort showed me images of what he planned on doing to Ron, Hermione, and Ginny after he killed me. It was terrible – I'll never forget those images. When he showed what he had planned for Ginny, something in me snapped.

"It wasn't out of anger. I wasn't angry at that point. I was thinking that my friends didn't deserve that and I loved them too much to let it happen. The emotion that I was feeling was love, and it was the catalyst for the transformation."

Harry looked up at Dumbledore and saw that he was nodding. He continued. "Just a few minutes ago, that was anger. So I'm assuming that these powers are tied to emotions, even more so than regular magic."

"Well, Harry, what we can both do is still 'regular magic'. It is nothing more than the next level. It only takes one emotion powerful enough to unlock that power," Dumbledore explained.

"Then why haven't more people been able to use it?"

"The kind of emotional intensity that it takes is something that the majority of people never experience in their lives. Even the death of a loved one can't produce the amount of raw feeling needed. Righteous anger – _truly_ righteous anger and the kind of protective love that you were feeling are some of the things that _can_ unlock it."

Harry smiled wryly, surprised that he still had the ability to do so. "I always thought I wasn't very emotional."

Dumbledore returned the smile, gratified that the young man in front of him still had the presence of mind for some humor.

"Well, I think we can all surprise ourselves every now and then. Once you unlock this power, you can call it much easier, as I'm sure you can tell. Each new emotion brings new auras and new powers specific to that emotion. Some powers overlap, but most are tied to the strengths and weaknesses of that emotion."

"Was that your true power before?" Harry asked, somewhat timidly. He had pissed of the Headmaster, and surprisingly hadn't suffered the consequences. _Haven't suffered them YET. Who knows what he's going to do_, he thought ruefully.

"Yes, and I daresay that we are fairly evenly matched." Dumbledore suddenly acquired a pensive look on his face. Harry waited for him to explain what he was thinking about.

He didn't have to wait long, though. "I'm curious, Harry. Would you be willing to duel me tomorrow?"

"Um…sure. If I might ask, though, why?" Harry had a feeling this was one of the consequences of his actions that night.

"The students and faculty should have some sort of demonstration of what we can do. They have the right to know, I suppose. I'd also like to see how you fight, as well. I've always wanted to duel you, but you were never powerful enough for a true challenge."

_He's always wanted to duel _me?_ Damn, what did I do to deserve this?_ Harry considered it an honor and a punishment. He knew it wouldn't be easy, but not many people have had the opportunity to duel him. He was supposedly the most powerful wizard of the Light since the age of Merlin. _And he said we are evenly matched!_

Harry's green eyed twinkled merrily. Dumbledore was relieved to see the gleam come back to Harry's eyes. "Sure, Albus, I'd love to."

"Very well. Tomorrow after lunch would be appropriate, I think. For now, I bid you goodnight."

Realizing that he had just been dismissed, Harry turned and left. He walked back to the Gryffindor common room in a daze. _I'm dueling Albus Dumbledore tomorrow! …I'm dueling Albus Dumbledore tomorrow…Shit._

"Basilisk Brains," Harry said to the portrait. It opened and he entered. Tomorrow was going to be very interesting. Very interesting, indeed.


	5. Battle of the Heroes

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: As you'll see, the story carries a rating of M for valid reasons. Please read and review! Oh, thanks to Mr. Williams for the title of the chapter.**

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Chapter 5: Battle of the Heroes

_His scar had warned him of this. Voldemort had done something particularly nasty this night, and he was painfully aware of it through the link. Harry focused on the pain in his scar, trying to recall the images that had been relayed to him. Diagon Alley…some very large building near Ollivander's…yes, there it is…the Orphanage. There were no outward signs of damage, but who knew what lie within._

_Harry got up and crept down to the common room. It was December and the castle was quite drafty, so he had put on his winter robes over his pajamas. The common room was empty, as was to be expected at this late hour. Harry glided over to the fire and sat down on the couch, collecting his thoughts. He stared into the fire as images from his dream came to him. He knew it was more than a dream, though; his scar didn't hurt unless something was happening and the images were usually precognitive. _

_He had seen about twenty Death Eaters enter the Orphanage, causing it no exterior damage. About forty-five minutes later they all left, just as silently as they had come. They congregated outside of the Orphanage and Apparated away as a group. The building stood silent and almost serene in the wake of the activities of the Death Eaters._

_Harry had a very bad feeling about this. The Death Eaters rarely did things subtly, and the fact that they hadn't left any outward signs of their presence was quite disturbing. The second thing that Harry cringed at was how many children occupied the Orphanage. Whatever had happened in there couldn't be pleasant. He sat mulling things over, finally deciding that he had to go see what happened. He had to know what the Death Eaters were up to._

_He left the common room and headed toward McGonagall's office. He unlocked the door with a simple _Alohomora_ and headed to the fireplace. He grabbed the floo powder and threw it into the fire. The flames turned a sickly green, and for a moment he was reminded of the Killing Curse. He hesitated, but after realizing what he was doing, stepped into the flames and yelled, "Diagon Alley!"_

_There was a brief sensation of being sucked through a vacuum, and then he was tumbling out of a fireplace into the Leaky Cauldron. He stood up and brushed himself off, looking around as he did so. The Leaky Cauldron had very few customers due to the late hour, but they were unsurprised to see the visitor from the floo network. People came and went all through the night because Diagon Alley was the hub of the English Wizarding world._

_Harry ignored those around him and exited the pub. He looked around for a moment, making sure that the street was fairly empty, and then began hurrying his way towards Ollivander's and the Orphanage. No one paid him any attention, which was good for him because he was away from Hogwarts when he was supposed to be in bed. He stopped at Ollivander's, eyeing the Orphanage curiously._

_There were a few lights visible from the outside, but otherwise the place looked like it should at 3 am in the morning – silent, dark, and waiting for dawn. There were no outward signs of any type of disturbance, but Harry was cautious anyway. He tested the area for any charm or curse traps, and finding none, walked toward the building. He approached the door and looked up the many floors of the place. How many kids were in there? Two hundred? Four hundred? He didn't know, but he was beginning to get a very bad feeling about this._

_Harry took a deep breath, held his wand at the ready, and opened the doors to the building. The first thing he noticed was the lack of security at the front desk. The lobby was completely deserted. He looked around carefully, and then saw what he had feared. The guard was lying on the floor, face frozen in the shock of a Killing Curse. Someone had trampled on his wand, splintering it and driving it into his outstretched hand._

_Harry cringed at the sight for a moment, but then cocked his head as some noise came floating to his ears. It was very faint, but it was also unmistakable. It was the sobbing of a small child – several small children, in fact. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he listened to it for a second. He was fighting the urge to just turn and run, pretending that he had never seen the Death Eaters enter and leaving, doing whatever was in store for him. Harry was a better person than that, though, and he steeled his resolve and moved past the desk. He carefully stepped over the body of the guard and made his way into the first floor corridor. Every 15 feet or so there was a door on either side of the hallway, and there was undoubtedly one or more orphaned children housed in each of these rooms._

_He paused at the first door on his left. He listened for a moment, and felt his heart deaden at the sobbing of what sounded like a small girl that was coming from within. He put a hand to the knob and turned it, feeling a sense of dread as he did so. His eyes widened in shock when he saw what was in the room._

_A small girl, of no more than eight, was huddled in the far corner. She was sobbing to herself, and the reason was very apparent to a dumbfounded and disgusted Harry. She was naked and bloody, and had been very clearly sexually abused. There were scratch marks over her body and her clothes lie torn on the floor. There was a large yellow bruise forming on her face, as if she had been struck. The floor she was sitting on was mess, and Harry could only imagine why. She looked up in horror when the door opened, and upon seeing Harry, started to shake and cry violently._

_Harry was too shocked to do anything for a moment, but then moved into the room to comfort the small girl. The closer he came, however, the more violent her shuddering became. She started to moan a little, so he stopped. His brain was racing, but it was also in denial. He refused to accept what he was seeing. He did the only thing that he could come up with, and conjured a blanket. He wrapped the girl in it, trying to calm her as he picked her up in the warm mass of the blanket. Seeing that she wasn't going to calm down anytime soon, he carefully placed her on the bed in the comforting cocoon of the cover._

_He looked at her for a moment, trying to digest what had happened here, but his mind still refused to accept it. He left the room and crossed the hall to another door. He listened and heard sniffling from within, but this time it was clearly a boy. He opened the door and stared at what had transpired in this room. The boy was still clothed, but he was lying on the floor, shuddering in agony. He clearly had been given the Cruciatus curse and was suffering the after effects. Harry could only think of conjuring another blanket and wrapping this boy the same as he had the girl, and placed him on the bed. He tried to calm the shuddering for a moment, but the boy was in too much pain to really even notice._

_He left the room and went to a few more rooms, finding the same scene in each of them. The girls were mostly naked and in varying degrees of stress. They had all been noticeably sexually abused and their bodies were battered and bruised. None of them were older than ten. The boys had all been given the Cruciatus curse and left shuddering on the floor. They were also no older than ten. Harry conjured a blanket for each of the children and wrapped them in it, placing them on the bed with a few words of comfort before he left for another room._

_After about ten rooms, Harry decided that something more than he was doing must be done. He raced back to the lobby and out the front doors. _"Sonorus,"_ he muttered, amplifying his voice. "BRING HELP TO THE ORPHANAGE! THERE WAS A DEATH EATER ATTACK ON THE CHILDREN. BRING BLANKETS AND WARM CLOTHING!" He didn't wait for a response as he rushed back inside, muttering, _"Quietus,"_ as he went. He proceeded from room to room, finding the same as he did in the first ten, and tried to help them as much as he could._

_His mind was still reeling from the initial shock of what he was witnessing, but it was quickly catching up to him. His breath was coming harder and harder and he had a hard time keeping his fists and stomach unclenched. He barely noticed the people that had started to come into the Orphanage upon hearing his cry for help, discovering what had happened and helping the children as much as they could._

_Harry climbed the stairs to the second floor and pushed open another door. There was a very small girl in this room – no more than six years old – and she was in the same state as the others he had seen. He was suddenly overcome with disgust and had to back out of the room for a moment. He retched into the hallway, doing so for so long that in the end it was nothing more than a dry heave. After it had stopped, he wiped his mouth and went back into the room. He conjured a blanket and wrapped the small girl in it. She wasn't crying, perhaps because she was so young and couldn't comprehend what had happened to her. She had a shell-shocked expression on her open face. It tore at Harry's insides to see such a young and innocent witch be tormented like she had. When he picked her up in the blanket, her wide and unseeing eyes focused and moved to his face. They lingered on his eyes for a second, taking in his emerald gaze, before moving to his forehead. They widened further when she saw his scar._

"_Mr.…Mr. Potter?" she asked him._

_He was astounded that she had the presence of mind to speak. "Yes, sweetie. What can I do to help you?" Harry was trying not to let his anger or disgust show in his voice._

"_I-I'm not su-sure," she said, stuttering a little as her mind tried to understand what had happened. "Why did they do this to me?" she asked as he set her on the bed and sat beside her._

_Harry's eyes teared up and he could barely contain his emotion. The little girl and her innocent questions were too much for him._

_With a shaking voice, he replied, "I don't know why. They just like to hurt people…" he trailed off as he saw her start to cry._

"_W-why would they want to hurt us? We ne-never did anything to them," she said as the tears began to fall freely from her large brown eyes._

_Harry smoothed her hair as she began to sob. She leaned into him and cried hard into his chest. He hugged her and tried to comfort her, but her mind was finally seeing what happened. Harry was experiencing the same thing, as his mind opened up to what the Death Eaters had done in the Orphanage. The tears started to flow from his eyes, and he didn't try to stop them. He cried with the little girl, holding her tight as she emptied her emotions onto his robe._

_They barely noticed the shouts of activity that were carrying through the Orphanage as more and more people came to help and discovered what had happened. Harry's emerald gaze was wet with tears, but it slowly hardened as he listened to the heaving of the young witch he was holding on to. Deep in the green depths flickered something very unpleasant – unadulterated hatred. They would pay for this. They would all pay. Every single one of them._

----------

"Harry." Someone was shaking his shoulder.

"Harry." The person started shaking his shoulder harder.

"_Harry_!" The person smacked his shoulder. Harry sat up and looked around. He was in his Gryffindor dormitory.

"Why are you crying?" It was Ginny who had woken him. She was looking at his face, which was wet with tears. He cleared his head, trying to force the grogginess out of his mind, and realized that he had been dreaming. His mind had recalled that horrific night in Diagon Alley.

"Bad dream," he mumbled, and sat up. He had sat with the girl, whose name he had later learned was Helen Davis, until more professional care arrived. Once he assured the small girl that he wouldn't forget about her, he Apparated back to the Hogwarts gates. The floos out of the castle were one way, so he had to trudge across the snowy grounds and through the sleepy castle to get back to his bed. His mind had still been in shock, but he never told anyone what he'd seen.

"What was it about?" Ginny asked him. There some concern evident on her face, but Harry noticed the fear. _She must still be upset about last night_, he thought to himself. He stood up and stretched.

"It's not important. Wanna get some breakfast?" he asked, looking at her face. She studied his gaze for a moment, deciding on whether or not to press the issue, and finally just let it go.

"Sure." She was silent as she watched him slip on some more appropriate clothing, and walked with him from the dormitory.

When they got to the common room, she asked him, "So…why did Dumbledore want you to stay last night? You just went straight to bed when you got back…"

"He wanted to talk," was all Harry said. He wasn't in the mood to talk too much after that dream, because it recalled in him the horrible empty feeling he had when he left that place. The hate had also returned, and it burned through him like a hot wire.

"Oh. Care to tell me what about?" Ginny could tell that he was being especially moody at the moment, but that never stopped her from trying to get him to open up. She knew that Harry always felt better when he had spilled some of his pent-up emotion.

Harry sighed. The emptiness was eating at his insides like a rampaging flobberworm, but he knew that he couldn't share what he'd seen with her. It was just too…awful. He would live that memory and those images for the rest of his life, as well as the overwhelming feeling of hatred that had accompanied them. He couldn't remember a single time in his life – not while with the Dursley's, not while fighting with Snape or Draco, not even when Voldemort had killed Cedric – when the hatred had been so incredibly powerful and consuming as it had while he held the shaking girl in his arms. It burned through his body like a sharp, hot knife and there was nothing that he could do to make that cold and ruthless feeling stop. Just thinking about how those…_pigs_…took advantage of everything that lay in their paths made him sick and he wanted to rip their bloody heads off.

"Harry?" Ginny asked, somewhat timidly. His emerald gaze had gone icy and, if she was being honest with herself, it frightened her somewhat. She had seen this gaze during the war a few times, and nothing had stood in his way when he got like that. Killing Curses had flown brutally and inexorably from his wand on those days; no Death Eater or other creature of the Darkness had stood in his way. She had always assumed it was because Voldemort had killed his parents, but she couldn't help thinking, at this moment at least, that there was something even more driving him into that hatred.

"Mm? Oh…sorry babe…" She relaxed as the hardness drained from his eyes a bit. "I was just caught up in the dream."

"What was the dream about?" she asked, but regretted it immediately as he flinched violently. A dead look came onto his face, which in some ways scared her even more than the cold hatred he had just been expressing. His eyes were lifeless – they stared hollowly at the space in front of him, seeming to mirror the thousands of souls that he felt he was responsible for.

"You don't want to know."

"Harry – Harry! Look at me!" she exclaimed.

Harry stopped and stared straight ahead for a minute. He sighed and brought his eyes to meet hers. She forced back a cringe as she met that dead gaze.

"You know that you can tell me anything, right? Absolutely anything. You know that right?" she questioned.

He nodded in the affirmative, but the deadness was still boring into her brown eyes. _What is going on here? This is worse than his normal moodiness. He just killed Voldemort – he should be happy, rejoicing, ecstatic even…the war is over…_Ginny thought, dropping her eyes because the dead gaze was making her too uncomfortable.

Harry hardly noticed though, because he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts again. There was a flicker of that hatred there, but for the most part it remained dead.

"Well?" she asked, a little impatiently.

"Well what?" he said. She didn't know if he was doing it on purpose or not, but he was exasperating her.

"What was the dream about?"

Harry sighed loudly this time, shaking his head in defeat. "I can't tell you—at least…not yet. Maybe someday…but right now it's just too close and painful to share with anyone else." He was rubbing his temples, as if he had a headache.

"That doesn't make a lot of sense, you know. Come on, Harry, you know as well as I do that it's good to talk about things that are bothering you. You can't bottle up these thoughts and feelings forever!"

Harry muttered something darkly in response, but refused to meet her eyes as they continued to walk to the Great Hall.

"What was that, Harry?"

"Look, you don't want to know what the fucking dream was about!" he said, momentarily surprised at his own outburst. He glanced over at the hurt look on Ginny's face, and repressed a groan that threatened to escape his lips.

"I'm sorry…it's just that I have a lot on my mind and most of it isn't pleasant. I'm sorry for yelling at you…you know how my temper can be sometimes," he explained, a half-hearted smile forming on his lips.

She just rolled her eyes at him and looked away, slightly put out but not altogether too angry with him. _I can only imagine how many things he really does have on his mind, at the moment…_

"Well, anyways…you never answered my other question," she reasoned, looking at him pointedly.

He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "And that was…?"

She rolled her eyes at him and sighed in mock exasperation, chuckling at his short-term memory difficulties. "Gods, Harry, are you sure that brain of yours is still working? _Dumbledore_, you fool. What did you and him talk about last night?"

He was silent for a moment, contemplating how much of what they had spoken about he should tell her. "Well, we had a discussion about magic…what it is and how it works…um…that's about it—wait, actually, I forgot to tell you last night." Harry slapped his forehead in mock frustration, smirking sideways at Ginny as he did so. She was somewhat relieved to see this playful side of Harry, but her curiosity was piqued.

"Yes? What did you forget to tell me?"

"Well, you see, today after lunch I'm dueling Albus," he grinned. He had forgotten how much he was looking forward to it. He glanced over at Ginny, but was surprised to see that her face had lost its color and her jaw was gaping.

"Trying to catch flies or something, Weasley?" he asked, sweetly.

She snapped back to reality and glared at him for a second. He knew she hated being called by her last name, _especially_ by him. She thought it was cold and distant and very inappropriate.

"What do you mean, you're _dueling_ him?" she asked, forgetting her anger as she realized what Harry had said.

"Just that. I'm dueling Dumbledore," he replied, rather serenely.

She stopped outside the Great Hall and turned to him, hands on her hips. Her scowl intensified as she saw the wistful look in his eyes.

"Harry! Snap out of it! What are you thinking?"

He eyed her for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"He's the most powerful wizard _alive_, Harry. Hell, probably since the Age of Merlin. How could you possibly hope to have a chance against him?"

He returned her scowl with a highly indignant look of his own. "What are you insinuating? Do you think I'm weak? Is that what you think, Ginny? You think I can't handle myself? Well, I have news for you. In case you've forgotten already, I was the one who took down Voldemort. I was the one who ended this bloody war," he spat, his anger returning as quickly as it had gone away earlier.

She realized her mistake too late. Harry _hated_ it when people called him weak or a coward. They risked their necks insulting Harry like that, and she certainly did not feel like incurring the wrath of Harry Potter at the moment.

She shook her head at Harry and said, "Look, that's not what I meant. You know that I would never call you weak. Just be careful, alright?" She gave him a pleading look, hoping that he understood her.

Thankfully, he nodded and grinned at her, the anger that had so suddenly risen gone in a flash. His emerald eyes were now warm and inviting, in sharp contrast to the glint they'd had a few moments before.

"Sure thing. Let's eat, babe. I'm simply staaaahving," he said in a coy manner, making her laugh. They walked through the doors to enjoy their breakfast.

----------

Harry stood on the steps to the castle, looking out across the grounds that had become like home to him. He watched as all of the students and faculty, besides him and Dumbledore, congregated out on the wide front field and sat in the chairs that had been set up. _He sure went all out for this, didn't he?_ Harry mused. Dumbledore had the chairs set up and made sure that everyone in the school was out there to watch them. Harry was terribly excited for this, but he couldn't help the slight sense of apprehension, either. Ginny's words had gotten to him, and he was a tiny bit afraid of dueling with the extremely powerful headmaster.

_He did say we are evenly matched, though. That's got to count for something, _but Harry was broken from his thoughts as a hand rested on his shoulder. He looked over to see Dumbledore standing next to him.

The first thing that Harry noticed about the Headmaster was his appearance – it was completely different than what he looked like normally. His elegant purple robes had been replaced by white battle robes. These were sleeveless and had legs like pants. They were of a very light and comfortable but extremely strong material. Just above the left breast was the figure of a phoenix, and above the right breast was the Hogwarts crest.

Dumbledore noticed Harry looking at his robes and smiled. "You like, Harry? I thought you might. Want one for yourself?" he queried, raising a questioning eyebrow at his young charge.

Harry looked down at his school robes—black and boring. He only had to think about it for the briefest of seconds before nodding at Dumbledore, who smiled a bit and took out his wand. He muttered something and pointed it at Harry, transfiguring his school robes into similar battle attire.

Harry's robes were very similar, except for two things: a stag replaced the phoenix and the Potter family crest replaced the Hogwarts crest. They were light and airy and allowed for a much-improved range of motion.

"Thanks, Albus. These are great," he said, smiling at his Headmaster.

_Well, he certainly seems to be in a better mood today_, thought Dumbledore. _This duel is just what we both need. He can blow off some steam and I can see what he can really do._

"Shall we?" Dumbledore asked, raising a hand toward the gathering crowd. He and Harry walked to the small podium that had been set up in front of them all and waited for everyone to settle in. Once they had, Dumbledore raised his wand to his throat and muttered, "_Sonorus_."

"Quiet. Quiet please." He waited as everyone stopped talking and looked up to him and especially Harry with curious faces. There still hadn't been an official word on just _what_ Harry had done to defeat Voldemort.

"As you can see by our attire, Mr. Potter and I have planned something special for you all today." He paused for dramatic effect, before continuing on. "We have decided to perform a bit of a friendly duel." He briefly smiled at the murmuring that started, and then said, "This has two purposes. The first, sorry that I am to say this, is so we can show off a bit. The second, and more importantly, is to show you all some techniques in case any of you ever have to fight for your life." He ended on a more serious note, giving his students his best stern look, allowing the twinkle to falter for a second. He needed to impress upon these students exactly how important knowledge of dangerous and effective offensive and defensive spells was.

"I know that the war is essentially over, so you may be asking yourselves why that is important at this point, but in the words of my old friend, 'CONSTANT VIGILANCE!'" Many students jumped at his loud outburst, but that was followed by the sound of a hundred sniggers as people realized he had just stolen Moody's favorite line.

Harry couldn't help but laugh lightly at his Headmaster's antics, but he also felt a deep sense of regret when he recognized the truth behind those words. Who knew what kind of evil lurked out there, ready to pounce on the unsuspecting witch or wizard that happened to pass by?

"You all _must_ stay in your seats. I do not want any stray spells harming any of you. Do I make myself clear?" Everyone nodded at him, most of them trying to think of what Harry could possibly do against their Headmaster. They all had some idea of how powerful he was…how could Harry hope to match that? He _had_ taken out Voldemort, but that was something out of necessity, not power.

"_Quietus_. All right, Harry, I'm going to put up shields around them. Don't worry about them, ok? Go all out," he said, eyes twinkling marvelously. Harry nodded and watched as Dumbledore erected a complicated shield around the audience before turning to him and motioning him away from them. There was a large, open space between the school and the crowd—more than large enough for a duel.

"How about we start with our wands?" Dumbledore asked Harry. Harry considered what he meant for a moment, and then realized that they were going to start as a normal duel. He nodded at the old man. Dumbledore raised his wand at Harry and bowed. Harry followed suit, tensing as a sudden gust of wind rushed around them. Both of their battle robes whipped fervently in it, before it died as suddenly as it had come.

_This is it…don't hold back, _Harry thought.

There was a deep silence as both men stood there, looking at each other intently and waiting for the other to make the first move.

"_Incendio!_" Harry yelled suddenly, watching as three huge balls of roiling red flame shot from the end of his wand. He saw Dumbledore's shield flash up around him and rolled to the side as he heard Dumbledore yell "_Expelliarmus!_" He would not lose his wand that quickly. The balls of flame ricocheted off the shield, flying off toward the crowd. Harry watched in horror for a moment, forgetting about the shields, but then relaxed when he saw them splash and explode up against them. The crowd recoiled. The momentary lack of concentration was enough for Dumbledore to get him, though, and he flew backwards off his feet as a bludgeoning curse caught him painfully on the shoulder.

Still on his back, he yelled "_Protego!_" as he saw some balls of flame headed his way. They bounced harmlessly off. Harry jumped to his feet and saw more coming his way, so he Apparated a short distance away. He fired off several bludgeoning curses toward Dumbledore before Apparating again, this time firing off a _Diffindo_. He Apparated away immediately after.

----------

Ginny recoiled against her chair as the three huge fireballs came toward them, marveling at how much raw power Harry had at his disposal. She'd seen him fight before, but it was never with any sort of variation in his spells. It was usually either a stunning spell or a Killing Curse.

She gasped as she saw him hit the ground from what appeared to be a bludgeoning curse. He leapt to his feet and started Apparating from point to point very quickly, firing off spells at each point before leaving again.

Dumbledore started doing the same thing. They were Apparating so quickly that it was almost impossible to follow their movement about the field. Occasionally one of their shields would flare up in protest as a rogue spell hit it, but for the most part they were easily avoiding each other's offensive spells. The shield in front of the crowd flared up suddenly as a large black ball of flame came from nowhere and hit it, causing some to recoil before they tried to train their eyes on the fighters again.

"Damn, he's fast…" Ron said, trying to follow Harry's movements. "I didn't know that he could fight like this. This wasn't how he fought the Death Eaters…" he said, trailing off as he caught sight of Harry. He fired of that intense ball of black flame before Apparating away again.

Hermione was digging her fingernails into her face. She couldn't believe that Harry was holding his own so well against the only one Voldemort ever feared. He was moving like lightning, dictating the pace and form of the battle as if he was superior to Dumbledore. She watched him with a sort of awe, and with some envy in her eyes because, even though she may be the smartest witch in centuries, she certainly couldn't practically apply it like Harry could.

"What is that black ball he keeps using?" Ginny asked, as she watched another huge ball of black flame speed toward where Dumbledore had been a moment ago.

"_Flamma atrum_," Hermione said. She was too preoccupied with the duel to notice Ginny's shocked look.

"Isn't that a really powerful Dark Arts spell?" she asked, looking at where Harry had just been standing. The ground exploded where she was looking, no doubt due to a _Reducto_ Dumbledore had cast. She flinched a bit. _They certainly aren't holding anything back_, she thought, rather grimly.

"Yeah…I guess it is…" Hermione said thoughtfully, realizing for the first time that it _was_ indeed a very powerful dark spell. She was surprised that Harry was using it. Just then, another of the large black balls crashed into the shields around them—unbeknownst to them all, however, that particular section of shield had just collapsed and left them unprotected.

----------

"_Flamma atrum!_" Harry cried, before Apparating to another spot. It was the most powerful non-lethal spell he knew, so he didn't care that it was a Dark Arts spell.

Dumbledore had looked shocked that Harry would or could use it, but the look was brief because he had soon resorted to using spells of any art, realizing that Harry was taking this duel very seriously.

He cast his own Dark Flame, trying to predict where Harry would be next, and sure enough, Harry had Apparated directly into its path. It ricocheted off his shield, which flared brightly in protest and almost collapsed under the strength of the spell. It hurled off toward the crowd, but Harry paid it no attention. The shields in place would stop it.

Just before he Apparated away again, he sensed that something was wrong. He looked over to the shields, and feeling with his magic, started in shock at what he sensed. _One of the bloody shields is down!_ He watched in horror as the spell Dumbledore had cast raced toward the hole, almost seeking it out. He could think of only one thing to do, and Apparated to get in front of it.

"_Protego!_" he bellowed, strengthening his weak shield.

----------

Ginny watched the ball of flame in fascination as it rapidly approached the shields around them. It was black – so black that it seemed to suck away the daylight around it. The flames licked at the air around it, roiling into itself and the swirling mass of dark flames within.

She started in shock as a figure Apparated in front of them all and yelled, "_Protego!_" It was Harry, and he was inside their shields. She watched in confusion for a moment, but then cried out in realization as the sphere of blackness collided with Harry's protective barrier and rocketed up into the sky. He had just saved them all from being horribly burned by dark magic.

Dumbledore Apparated in next to Harry, holding his hands up in a gesture of a momentary stop to their duel. He eyed Harry for a moment, silently thanking him for the presence of mind to stop the ball before it hit the crowd.

He turned to the crowd and said, "Sorry about that. My deepest apologies to you all. If it wasn't for Harry's quick thinking I'm afraid that it would have hit you all. Perhaps this should end now." He saw the looks of horror on some faces in the audience, and sighed in resignation. How could the shields have failed? They were the strongest defensive spell he knew, and would tear apart a person if used on an individual. They were meant to protect structures or large groups. Could Harry really be _that_ powerful?

Harry broke his train of thought by placing a hand on the old man's arm. He smirked sideways at him, surprising Dumbledore with the gesture. "How about we take this to the next level and throw away our wands?"

Dumbledore's eyes gleamed in understanding and he nodded. He turned to the crowd. "I'll throw a double shield up so I can assure you this will not happen again." He raised his wand and muttered the incantation, throwing up new shields and strengthening the ones already in place. Harry had already begun walking back toward the center of the open space.

Dumbledore turned to join him, smiling inwardly at thought of what was to come.

----------

Ginny watched as Harry and Dumbledore headed away from them again, still reeling a little from how Harry's quick thinking had saved her and countless others. _He's so selfless…I doubt he ever thinks about himself…_

She heard Hermione's sharp intake of breath and looked up quickly. She gave a gasp of her own. Dumbledore had thrown down his wand Harry was doing the same. _What the hell?_

----------

Harry eyed Dumbledore expectantly, waiting for the man to begin. A familiar light started to glow from his mentor, so he lost himself in his own thoughts. His mind was still somewhat affected from his dream, so the only emotions that came to him for a few moments were anger and hatred. He didn't want to fight Dumbledore like that, though, so he pushed those thoughts away and focused on something more pleasant.

_Ginny…it will always be Ginny…I just love her too damn much_, he thought smiling to himself. He felt the warm and familiar sense of overwhelming love and desire, and lost himself for moment. He had come to know that blank period as the transformation, and waited expectantly for it to finish. It lasted only a few seconds however, and when he looked up he saw that Dumbledore had completed his, too.

The Headmaster was engulfed in a turquoise aura that swirled and swung around him. His battle robes were flapping in the 'wind' and his beard was trailing over his shoulder. His eyes had gone brilliantly blue, the twinkle completely taking over. There were flecks of a hard yellow color mixed into his mostly turquoise aura.

_What is that…excitement? I can definitely feel excitement coming off of him. There's something else though…apprehension? Yeah, that's it. He's mostly extremely excited but there is a slight apprehension. What's he afraid of? Surely it couldn't be me_, Harry thought.

Dumbledore eyed Harry for a second before realizing what the green aura meant. It was the same color as the young boy's eyes, and it felt warm and cozy. It was _love_. It was very powerful love, too. He smiled at Harry, thankful that it wasn't the anger or hatred that he'd thought it would be.

----------

There were noises of confusion and shock from the crowd because most of them hadn't seen this new side of either Harry or Dumbledore before. They didn't understand what was happening and why they were suddenly engulfed in colored auras. Harry stood up there with his green aura swirling around him, looking much older than the seventeen years he was. Dumbledore stood in his turquoise nimbus, looking every bit as powerful and intimidating as Harry. The thing that ruined the feeling of intimidation, however, was that both men were smiling, almost stupidly, at each other.

Ginny looked at Harry with a knowing smile, sensing the love she had felt during the fight with Voldemort coming from Harry. She felt…excitement coming from Dumbledore. Hermione and Ron just watched, very enthralled by what they were seeing.

Harry raised his hands, palms up, and conjured two crackling green orbs of energy. They floated there for a second, but then he reared back and hurled them at Dumbledore with an inhumanly speed. There was a bright green flash and a blur as Harry moved almost as quickly, almost _too _quickly to be called moving, and was standing behind Dumbledore. Dumbledore seemed to be expecting this, however, and ducked as the balls came at him.

He whipped around to where the balls should have hit Harry, but he only saw Harry smirking at him, having caught the two balls in outstretched hands. Dumbledore's aura flared outward and upward, engulfing them both and a large space around them in the violently swirling cloud of light. The green balls died quickly as the Headmaster's magical essence touched them. Ginny forgot everything that was happening around her as she focused her whole mind on the battle raging in front of her.

----------

Harry held back a feeling of surprise as his opponent's aura engulfed him, watching as his orbs of energy died away. Dumbledore was almost chuckling at him.

Harry surged his own energy and watched as his own emerald aura flared outward, forcing back the Headmaster's turquoise essence. The two auras fought with each other as the two men battled with their minds and their will power, trying to hold the magical strength of the other back. The point at which the auras touched sparked and sizzled dramatically, causing the air around both men to waver. Turquoise lightning shot up into the sky mixing with emerald-colored bolts.

The auras were now raging against each other, but it was merely the manifestation of the battle raging inside Harry and Dumbledore. _He's …too …powerful…argh…must hold him back…_Harry thought, trying to add even more energy into his battle.

Sensing that Dumbledore was about to heave a final surge upon him, he tensed up and gathered all of his magical reserves, rushing them outwards in a final act of supremacy. Dumbledore did the same thing at almost the exact same time, and there was a bright flash as the two waves of energy collided against each other. The air caught on fire and there was an intense pressure wave. There was a loud _BOOM_, which echoed off the castle walls.

Both men were thrown backwards, instantly descending from their enhanced states when they lost their concentration. Harry landed on his back about 20 feet away. He looked up and saw Dumbledore lifting his head to survey what had just happened. He started to laugh and soon after Dumbledore did the same.

They got up and moved towards each other, both still laughing. When they got to the object of their humor, they stopped and looked down into it. There was a crater in the ground, about 5 feet deep and 15 feet wide, caused by the meeting of the two waves of energy. The _dirt itself_ seemed to be on fire in the hole.

Harry looked up at Dumbledore, trying to suppress his mirth at the amount of power they had both released.

Dumbledore waved his hands, causing the protective shield around the crowd to collapse. He looked at Harry with a grin on his face.

"That was something, Harry, eh? You are a very powerful wizard, indeed."

Harry grinned sheepishly at his Headmaster's compliment, replying, "Still couldn't beat you, though…"

Dumbledore shook his head lightly and smiled, laughing a bit at who he considered to be his favorite student of all time.


	6. Harry's Dark Deeds

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: Enjoy! Please read and review.**

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Chapter 6: Harry's Dark Deeds

"Harry!"

Harry had barely opened the door when he heard the shriek, and couldn't react in time to avoid the small blur that came for him. With an _Oomph,_ he staggered back a step as it collided with his abdomen. He looked down at the top of the person's head, patting the straight brown hair briefly. The girl lifted her head and he smiled into the beautiful brown eyes of Helen Davis.

It was now Wednesday afternoon, three days since his duel with Dumbledore. Their duel had sparked students into action like wildfire, with many of them galvanized enough to actually approach either himself or Dumbledore for some sort of advice or specific training. When it was starting to get out hand, Dumbledore had addressed the students during dinner the night before and told them that a formal announcement regarding any sort of training would be made during Thursday's dinner.

Harry had talked to Dumbledore very little since their duel—only in passing and only then a few words. He was still very upset over what he had learned about the Headmaster's 'death' and refused to talk to anyone about it, least of all the Headmaster himself. The duel was but a brief respite from the painful memories of the war and his newfound animosity towards what he thought was cowardice, and now that it was long gone, he had a hard time keeping his temper in control when near Dumbledore.

It was weighing on him, though, and very heavily at that. The dream he'd had the night before the duel was occurring every night, sometimes in even more vivid detail, and he thought he would crack if he didn't let it out soon. There were actually some things he wanted to discuss with Dumbledore, but he was working himself up to it. Today, he decided to come visit the girl he had comforted, Helen Davis, at St. Mungo's in Diagon Alley.

He had promised that he wouldn't forget her and Harry was not a person to easily break his promises. He had visited with her in the Pediatrics Ward occasionally during the four months since the attack on the orphanage, and each time he saw her she came out of her shell a little more. He had hesitated about coming today because an official statement about Voldemort hadn't been released as of yet, but he decided that seeing her was more important than avoiding the bloody press. He knew how much she depended on his visits and was glad to provide comfort and entertainment for such a ball of life.

"Hey, Helen. Your welcome was enthusiastic, as usual," he kidded her. She laughed at him and hugged him tighter around the waist. Seeing that she was not going to let go anytime soon, he picked her up and set her against his hip in the crook of his arm. She was fairly small for a six year old and therefore pretty light, so he could carry her around with ease.

"So how's my favorite brunette doing today?" Harry asked, with an undertone of seriousness. It did not go unnoticed in the sharp—_very sharp_, Harry corrected himself—six year old, and she sobered quickly.

"I'm doing pretty good…kinda bored, though, Harry. Can't I leave anytime soon?" she asked, picking at the couch they had chosen to sit on. She avoided his eyes, knowing what the answer would be.

"Where would you go? The Orphanage…?" but Harry immediately regretted it as he saw the pained look cloud her face. She still hadn't looked up, and Harry's face softened even more. He lifted her chin so he could look her in the eye.

"I'm trying to figure it out, ok Helen? It's just…there aren't a lot of options right now."

They were both silent for a moment, absorbed in their own thoughts. Harry didn't find it odd that Helen could be absorbed in her own thoughts, because even though she was six, she seemed to have the mind of at least a First Year at Hogwarts. He'd told her that once and she smiled brilliantly for days because of it.

Finally, she looked into his emerald eyes, and asked, "Is it true?"

He gazed at her. "Is what true?" He had no idea what she was talking about.

"You know…about V-Voldemort," she stuttered his name, because, under Harry's remonstration of the use of 'You-Know-Who', she was still getting used to it.

He smiled at her, marveling at how acutely aware of the world she was for someone so young. The smile faltered, though, when he remembered at least part of the reason why she had matured so quickly. The night of the Orphanage would be with her—and Harry, for that matter—for the rest of their lives. They hadn't talked much about it directly, but it always lingered at the edges of their conversations, like a low-lying annoying fog that refused to recede completely. It bothered Harry that he couldn't talk about it candidly, because he knew if he tried she would gladly do so, but he didn't have the heart or the stomach to bring it up yet.

"Yeah, sweetie, he's gone. Finally and once and for all," he sighed. It was almost a deep sigh of contentment, except for the fact that he still harbored a tiny ounce of regret the war was over. He still couldn't understand it, but it was there.

"How did it happen?" She had no idea that he was destined by the prophecy to be the one to vanquish the Dark Lord, so it was a very innocent question. It was still cause enough for him to wince, as he tried to figure out the best way to skirt around that question. He was going to lie to her, but something stopped him. She trusted him with her life, and he loved her like a little sister. There would be no secrets between them, when asked directly like that.

"Well…actually…I was the one who did it…" he said, looking carefully at her. She didn't react for a second, but then her eyes widened and she got up on her knees. Her face was close to his as she peered into his eyes with those wide eyes.

"_You_ did?" she asked, breathlessly. It wasn't exactly wonder that filled her—no, it was more like morbid curiosity that she was exuding.

Harry shifted around uncomfortably, unsure as to exactly how much he should tell her. Finally, he decided again it would be best to tell her as much of the truth as he could.

"Yes, some of my friends and I have been involved with him for years now, Helen. I do not say this lightly, because this conflict has been raging since before even I was born. We had to do some things before we could face him, and that took the better part of the past year. On Saturday, we traveled to where he lived and fought him. We won," he said simply, sparing the little girl the gory details or embellishments that he normally might have told.

The morbid curiosity turned into hard gleam, which Harry was very surprised to see from her, and she spat, "Good, I'm glad the bloody bastard is gone!"

Harry was shocked and his wide eyes and gaping mouth proved it. "Helen! Where did you learn language like that?"

She looked at him sheepishly for a moment, and then held her chin high against the admonishment. "One of the boys in the ward calls him that. I thought it was a good name for him."

Harry could barely contain a chuckle that threatened to escape him. He tried to acquire a stern gaze, but his mouth wouldn't cooperate and was trying to smile at the same time. It turned in a pained grimace, which Helen eyed with something that looked like amusement.

"Now Helen, that was very unladylike. You shouldn't use language like that, even if you are talking about Voldemort. I don't want to hear that anymore."

Her chin went a little higher and she held him with a haughty gaze. _This girl is feisty…kind of makes me think of a combination of Ginny and Hermione_._ She has the vast intellect of the latter and the fiery temperament of the former. She will certainly be interesting as she grows._

"That's what he is, though, isn't he?" Her poise might have looked arrogant, but her voice was questioning.

"Well…that's not the point. Some people would be offended just by the use of language like that." He patted her on the arm. "Don't worry about it for now; just try to limit the use of that sharp tongue you have," he said, giving her a mock piercing glare.

She stuck her tongue out at him, which caused him to dive for her and tickle her. She cracked into hysterical giggles almost immediately and tried to get out of his grasp, but he was too strong for her. He continued to tickle her for a few moments before stopping and sitting up, listening to her giggles die away and her hard breathing.

"You're mean," she pouted. She crossed her arms and looked away from him, chin up in disdain at Harry's actions. He grinned to himself when she did this—it was her favorite way of making him regret what he did.

He immediately took on a look of sorrow.

"Oh, woe is I! Have I insulted the great Helen Davis? I shall leave now; my presence is no longer wanted. I bid you goodbye, Ms. Davis. Good day, kind lady." It was common territory for them—they went through this at least once per meeting. He got up and started for the door, only to stop when she came up behind him and jumped on his back.

"Oh no you don't, Harry! Where do you think you're going? She wrapped her legs around his lower back and her arms loosely around his neck. "I've got you now!"

Harry spun around quickly, looking for the little girl. "Where did you go?"

Helen was silent, but she was shaking slightly with contained mirth.

Harry whipped around the other way. "Helen?"

She couldn't help herself and giggled lightly. That was all he needed as he reached back and pulled her around to the front. She was laughing openly now and he was grinning like a fool. She made him so happy and alive; sometimes he thought she was the one helping with _his _therapy rather than the other way around. He didn't have any therapy, of course, but she certainly made him feel better. He hoped he did the same for her.

He set her down on the ground and kneeled in front her, straightening her blouse as he did so. "Alright, sweetie, I've gotta go."

She pouted, and this time it was an honest look. "Already?" she asked.

It pained him to have to leave her like this every time, with nothing but the vast expanse of the Pediatrics Ward and all of its _wonderful_ things to do to occupy her time, but there was nothing he could do at the moment.

"I'm sorry, but there are some things that I must do today. I'll be back this weekend, ok?" he asked her, silently hoping that she would not cry. She hadn't as often upon his leaving during recent weeks, and he hoped that she didn't now.

She hugged him tightly and, before pulling away, whispered, "I love you, Harry."

Harry's breath caught in his throat and he let a ragged sound out as his own eyes welled up. He hugged her tightly for a moment, willing the tears away before she could notice them, and let her go once they were under control.

He looked into her face and said, "I love you too, Helen. Don't ever forget it." He patted her on the back and stood up. "See you later, honey," he parted as walked for the doors. The last glimpse of her through the doors showed a deep look of sorrow on her face, and his heart clenched like it did every time he saw it. It reminded him too much of the look on her face the night of the Orphanage…

"Mr. Potter! MR. POTTER!" Harry was broken from his thoughts when he heard the loud shouting. He looked up and groaned. A throng of press was waiting at the Apparition point for the hospital, and it was going to be impossible to avoid them unless he broke the Apparition laws. He wasn't willing to do that right now, so he steeled himself against the assault of questions.

"What has happened with You-Know-?"

"How did you defeat Vold-?"

"Why has there been no official-?"

He held up hands, cutting of the myriad questions in mid-sentence. He was surprised that they shut up so quickly, but it was a fleeting thought.

"I understand why you all have these questions," he started as he walked through them to the point, "but an official statement will be made tomorrow evening. Albus Dumbledore has already contacted those who he thinks are suitable to take the statement." With a bemused smile at their annoyed faces, he flicked his wand and Disapparated.

----------

The walk from the gates of Hogwarts back to the castle was filled with thought for Harry. He had to figure out the situation with Helen. She had grown on him during the past four months, and because she had no family of her own, he felt like he was responsible for her. It wasn't an obligation, though, because he wanted to help her. He really did love her like a sister and hated that she had to stay in the Pediatrics Ward for the moment. He certainly couldn't become her guardian because he was only 17 and couldn't possibly care for her needs in that way, but he wanted to watch out for her. He resolved to talk to Albus about it.

Thinking of Dumbledore brought new pangs of regret and anger to him, and he winced at the thought of having an extended conversation with the man. He had said some pretty terrible things the other day, but that wasn't what he regretted. He regretted that Dumbledore couldn't accept the things he'd done for the people he loved, and he was angry with him because of it. His anger, while based in that regret, was far more powerfully realized when he thought about Dumbledore in the Tomb those many months.

_How could he have done that? How could he have left all of us like that? He had power enough to crush Voldemort and he never used it. My _parents_ might still be alive if he had ended this, years ago, before it escalated. I just don't understand why he wouldn't use the power that he has to rid the world of _evil._ That's not acceptable…we were even in our duel, which means that he could have crushed Voldemort. Argh!_ Harry thought to himself, trudging closer and closer to the castle.

He let out a noise of disgust, but whether or not it was out of self-loathing or anger, he couldn't tell. As he approached the large doors to the entrance, he decided that tonight he had to go to Dumbledore and show him some things. Harry cringed a little. _The things I've done to protect people…_He sighed and crossed the threshold into the quiet castle.

----------

"What are you up to tonight, Harry?" Ron asked. He came and sat down in an adjacent chair and looked into the fire as Harry was. Harry had his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, and he was staring glumly into the crackling fire in front of him. He raised his eyes and looked across at his redheaded friend.

"I need to talk to Albus for awhile," he simply stated, and then moved his eyes back to the flames. Ron watched him carefully for a moment, noticing that he seemed unusually tired at the moment. There were no bags under his eyes, but his face seemed to be _sagged_ for some reason, like he was carrying the weight of the world in that brain of his.

"What for?" Ron asked, trying to sound casual.

Harry looked at him again. "Just…things."

"Oh. Well, want some company?"

Harry shook his head blithely. "Not tonight, Ron. This is between him and I."

Ron thought he understood. "Is this about…what you said?"

Harry grimaced for a moment, and then nodded his head. "Partially. But, look mate, you don't need to worry yourself or Hermione and Ginny with this, ok?"

Ron nodded, not wanting to upset Harry. He didn't particularly like the angry Harry, and he tried to avoid it at all costs.

"Sure thing. It's just…you look like hell, mate."

Harry grinned at him. "Thanks. Just what I needed…"

Ron chuckled and said, "Well, it's true, you know. You should try to get more sleep or something. And stop worrying so much. It's over—we don't have to fight anymore. We can get back our lives."

A pang shot through Harry's chest when he heard what Ron said. He looked back into the fire, his gaze penetrating the warm crackling and resting somewhere in the embers. Harry's whole life had been this war…he didn't really have a _life_ to go back to. He realized that _that_ was why it seemed almost bittersweet to him. He was going to be starting over; sure, he had Ginny, Ron, and Hermione to help him—not to mention Dumbledore and the others—but all of his existence had been for one purpose. Now that his purpose was finished he had to figure out what he wanted to do.

He sighed; he stood and stretched his cramped his muscles. He ran a hand through his unruly raven hair and looked down at Ron, who was regarding him with a curious air.

"All right, well, I'm gonna go see him now. I'll be back late, so don't wait up for me."

"Good luck."

Harry gave a half-smile and grumbled, "I might need it," and strode off toward the common room exit.

Harry's mind was filled with thoughts about what he was going to show his Headmaster, and he was at the gargoyle before he even thought about where he was going. He sighed again and said, "Coppercorn candies." The gargoyle slid away and revealed the revolving circular escalator.

He heard a loud, "Enter!" before he even reached the door, so he just strode into the office. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk looking over some scrolls, eating some candies that were in a dish by his hands. Fawkes crooned a welcoming noise and settled back into preening himself.

Harry stood behind one of the chairs facing his desk until Dumbledore looked up at him and said, not unfriendly, "Well, sit down. I'll just be a moment."

Harry sat in the chair and waited patiently for Dumbledore to finish whatever he was doing. He looked at Fawkes and noticed that the beautiful phoenix was staring at him. He locked eyes with the bird and was immediately uncomfortable. The eyes were one of an intellect vast and cool, not one of a bird. Harry looked away and shrugged it off. _He is, after all, a magical creature. Who knows how smart he is?_ He looked up from his thoughts and noticed Dumbledore had finished and was now staring at him, hands folded across the desk and eyes searching. The twinkle was there, but it was subdued.

"So, Harry, what can I do for you tonight? Is this something about the duel?"

Shaking his head, Harry said, "No, Albus, there are a few more important things that I want to talk about with you. First and foremost, I would like to apologize for what I said to you the other night. It was disrespectful and inappropriate…" he trailed off as Dumbledore held up his hand.

"I do not blame you for what you said, Harry. We all lose our tempers sometimes, even the most levelheaded of us. I just wish I understood you better."

Harry shifted uneasily in his seat before continuing. "Well, that is part of the reason that I came here tonight. I think I owe it to you to try to explain…certain things. But there is something else I'd like to address first."

"How was St. Mungo's?" Dumbledore asked. Harry stopped with his mouth hanging open, the question catching him off guard. It was strange that Dumbledore would mention it right then…

"Um…it was fine. Why do you ask?"

"That is the 'other matter' that you wanted to discuss, is it not?"

Harry nodded, still unsure how Dumbledore knew what he talking about. "Yeah, but how did you know?"

"I make it a point to know where my students are and what they are doing at all times. It _is_ my responsibility as Headmaster of Hogwarts." He smiled at his own cunning.

"Right, well, do you know why I was there?"

"Hmm, I believe a certain Miss Helen Davis, if I'm not mistaken?"

"How much _do_ you know, exactly?" Harry asked, wanting see how much of the whole conversation could be skipped.

Dumbledore looked thoughtful for a moment before answering the question. "I know that you've been visiting her for some time, that she has no family or legal guardian, and that she has been in the hospital since around Christmas. I also know that none of the students, including your friends, know about your visits and that Minerva was the only one before she told me."

"Oh. Well, in that case, I'll just cut to the chase. I was wondering what I could do about her."

"I'm not sure I follow you, Harry."

"I meant…what are my options here. She's important to me…" he stopped as Dumbledore gave him a scrutinizing look. The blue eyes searched his, and Harry had a hard time meeting the intent gaze. Albus Dumbledore could be a very disconcerting person when he wanted to.

"I don't follow you, Harry. Perhaps I should have been clearer. What motivates you to think this?"

_Well, it's now or never,_ Harry thought. "_Accio Pensieve_," he said, not even realizing that he hadn't used a wand. Dumbledore eyed him for a moment, noticing what Harry had done, but then shifted his concentration when he put the Pensieve on the desk.

Harry took a deep breath and let it slowly, clearing his head. "Alright, the first thing that I'm going to show you will explain what you want to know about Helen and will hopefully help you begin to understand some of the things that I said the other night."

Harry put his wand to his temple and searched for the complete memory. Once he had it firmly in his mind, he pulled it from his brain in a long silver string that hung from the end of the wand. He placed it in the Pensieve and swirled the silvery liquid around, watching as the memory took shape. The Pensieve projected it into the air above the desk in three dimensions, and they both sat back to watch the events unfold.

The memory was of the night at the Orphanage. This was the first time that Harry was sharing this with anyone—he had never told anyone about that night and he certainly never used the Pensieve to show anyone. He watched himself get up and leave Hogwarts, but soon shifted his eyes away from the images. It was too painful for him to watch.

His eyes settled on Dumbledore, who was paying rapt attention to the memory playing out before him. He took no notice of Harry, so he decided to watch his face. Dumbledore's face ran the gamut of emotions: confusion, curiosity, shock, horror, and finally disgust. Harry could even see a glint of anger in there. The thing that caught him off guard, though, was the single tear that fell from one of his eyes, before getting lost in the infinite whiteness of his beard.

And then, for just a moment, Harry saw something in Dumbledore that he'd never seen or even thought about before. All pretenses had dropped from the old mans face and eyes and for once in his life he looked like he didn't know what to say. There were no calming or assuring words, no curt reply to something he didn't like, and no anger-fueled response—it was just…nothing. It passed almost as quickly as it came, but however fleeting it may have been, Harry was sure of what he'd seen. And he didn't know if he liked it.

There was a silence for a few moments after the images had ceased. Finally, Dumbledore cleared his throat and looked at Harry.

"Well…that madness…certainly explains some things…" he said, as if not exactly sure how to approach it. Harry was reminded of that brief look of loss he saw on the old man's face, but he shoved it aside.

"I thought it might," Harry said quietly, adding, "But there are a few more things I need to show you."

"Are they quite like that?" Dumbledore asked, seeming to be a little uneasy.

"Well…no. But they are related," Harry affirmed.

"Ok, show me-"

"Actually, before I do, I was wondering if you could answer a few questions for me, Albus?"

Dumbledore nodded so Harry continued. "Well, I was just wondering what the situation is with the rest of the Death Eaters."

"I see. Well, from what I can gather—granted, I've only been back for a few days now—there are only around 30 left that haven't been rounded up. The Ministry is doing their best, but I'm sure it will be some time before they are all caught."

"Hmm…ok, and what of Voldemort?"

"His shell is being held at Azkaban."

"Er…shell?"

"Well, he was determined to be a soulless being. So, his shell, yes."

"Oh, all right. I suppose he won't be going anywhere anytime soon."

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth curved up ever so slightly, and he said, "No, I suppose not." The smile faded when he saw Harry's face turn into a grimace.

Harry said, "The next thing I'm gonna show you will no doubt shock you, but keep in mind what you've just seen." Dumbledore watched as Harry pulled the memory from his skull and set in into the Pensieve. The cold, hard glint of steel that had come into Harry's eyes didn't go unnoticed by the wise old man.

He leaned back in his chair and looked up at the images as they started to form.

----------

_It was the beginning of January. The weather had turned brutally cold, and wind chills were all well below zero. The sun seemed to barely penetrate the blue expanse of the sky, and its zenith provided little comfort or warmth. Twilight was falling as Harry headed to bed. He didn't feel like talking much that night, so he went to sleep early._

_He woke up several hours later, confused as to where he was for a moment. When he realized that he was safe at the Burrow for the winter hols, a sick feeling washed over him. His mind had rarely left the events of the Orphanage, which had happened only a month before. He was going back to Hogwarts in a few days, and he was unsure if he could face the tasks that awaited him when he got back._

_He sat in his bed for a moment, mulling over past events, when he suddenly got up and put on some clothes. He strode downstairs to the fireplace, took some floo powder and yelled, "Diagon Alley!" as he threw it in._

_He came out into the familiar Leaky Cauldron, and noticed that it was still fairly busy. He looked over at a clock and saw that it was only 11 o'clock. He had slept for about 5 hours, and it seemed everyone at the Burrow had taken a cue from and had gone to sleep. He strode out into the Alley, ignoring the blast of positively frigid air that hit his face. He walked quickly, trying to keep his hands and feet from numbing, and was soon staring at the white stone steps that led into St. Mungo's._

_He entered and proceeded to the Pediatrics Ward. The nurse at the desk informed him that visiting hours were over, but when she noticed his scar her eyes widened and she just nodded for him to continue. He pushed open the door and walked into the lounge. It should have been quiet and dark at this time of night, but instead there was one soul reading by the light of a lamp. She looked up at Harry and smiled brilliantly._

"_Mr. Potter!" Helen Davis exclaimed, setting down her small book and running to him. Harry had only seen her three times since the night of the attack, so she hadn't become familiar enough with him to call him by his first name yet. She trusted him completely, though, as was evident by the force she threw herself into his arms. He grinned at the little girl and looked at her face._

"_Hello Helen, what are you doing up so late?"_

_She squirmed in his arms for a second and said, "I couldn't sleep." Harry carried her over to one of the long couches and set her down on it, sitting next to her._

"_And how come?" he asked._

"_Well…I dunno…I just can't," she said, almost whining._

_Harry was about to respond, but he felt a little prickle in his scar. He reached a hand up to rub it and looked around warily. Helen noticed something wrong and perked up her face towards him._

"_What's the matter, Mr. Potter?" she asked._

"_I'm not sure, honey, just hang on a sec." He was about to get up and look around, but there was a sudden commotion from out in the hallway and a loud, urgent screaming._

_He looked quickly at Helen and saw that her face had gone pale. Her eyes were darting around fearfully, unsure of what was going on and no doubt reliving her horrible experience in every excruciating detail._

"_Helen, just stay here, I'll be right-"_

_He didn't finish his sentence however, because the door slammed open and people rushed in, cutting him off. His face paled when he saw them: Death Eaters. He dove behind the couch, pulling Helen down with him. She gave a little yelp, but he quickly covered her mouth. He looked in her eyes and shook his head slowly, indicating that she couldn't make any noise. With eyes widened, she nodded her little head in understanding. It broke his heart to see that look._

_He was distracted though when a Death Eater rushed by and kicked open a door to a room. It was a patient's room…in the Pediatrics wards…there were kids in there! With a sickly flash of green light, though, Harry knew that the kids in there were no more. It was a sickening realization, and one that would haunt him for days to come._

_The Death Eaters were here…at St. Mungo's…in the Pediatrics Ward…killing kids. And suddenly, Harry could only see red. The Death Eaters were murdering _kids._ They were snatching the life away from those who still had many, many years left ahead of them. Uncontrollable anger and loathing gushed to the surface of his emotions, fueled by what he'd seen at the Orphanage and what was occurring before him right now._

_Helen must have noticed the change in his demeanor, because she shrank back from him a little and started to cry. She had no idea what was going on, but she knew it couldn't be good._

"_Helen, listen to me. Whatever happens, stay here and stay covered. Close your eyes and hum to yourself. Ok?" It wasn't a question though—it was a statement. The steel in Harry's voice intimidated Helen, but she nodded and did as she was told. Harry pulled out his wand and stood._

_The brief glimpse of the room told him there was probably at least 20 Death Eaters moving through the ward, but that did not deter him. The rage was blinding and consuming him now—even if he had wanted to, he couldn't stop it or force it away. His mind could only focus one thing—Death Eaters were killing kids. That thought rode through his conscience many times over in the space of a few seconds, driving away any rational or coherent thought. The only thing that was left was hate. Hate…and the intent to kill._

"_YOU BASTARDS!" he screamed, raising his wand at the closest Death Eater. "_AVADA KEDAVRA_!" he yelled, watching as the green wave went forth and crumpled the person in the black robe. His mind briefly registered the fact that it was the first time he'd used the Killing Curse, but it was quickly lost to the revulsion swirling around in him. The Death Eaters who were close enough see what was going on turned to stop him, but Harry was a whirlwind of madness, death, and anger._

"AVADA KEDAVRA_!" he yelled again, taking out another Death Eater. He whirled around the room, Apparating short distances so they couldn't get a lock on his position. Each time he did so, he sent another Killing Curse flying in the direction of a Death Eater, all of whom were trying to stop him now._

"REDUCTO_!" he bellowed at two Death Eaters standing next to one another. The force of the curse blew them apart in a mess of flesh and bones, but Harry's mind was too overloaded to really see what he was doing. He Apparated across the lobby behind two more and shouted "_DIFFINDO_!" They slumped to the floor, headless._

_Once the lobby was cleared, he looked down a hallway and saw a green flash. _There are more and they're still killing kids! _The thought was fleeting and an anguished cry of wrath, loss, and guilt wrapped into one escaped his lips. He tore down towards the location of a light and raised his wand at a Death Eater who came out of the room. "_DIFFINDO_!" he cried, sending the cutting curse toward the man._

_It cut off his wand hand, and the man crumpled to the floor in agony. He looked at Harry with naked fear in his eyes, as if he was seeing what Harry Potter was for the very first time. The look caused a pause in Harry, one of confusion that his mind worked over for a second, before a small boy that had come out of his room distracted him._

_He watched, in almost morbid fascination, as a second Death Eater came around the corner, and upon seeing the boy, raised his wand. There was a green flash and the boy crumpled to the floor. Harry stared at the boy for one second before his mind completely snapped. There was nothing of the old Harry Potter left—there was only madness and revenge. The look on his face must have been truly frightening, because the Death Eater that had killed the boy faltered for a second when he saw it._

_Harry raised his wand at the man and cried, "_FLAMMA ATRUM_!" The huge, thirsty ball of black flame roared down the hallway toward the surprised Death Eater, and before he could move, it engulfed him. Harry watched in grim satisfaction as the flames were absorbed into the man's flesh, horribly disfiguring him. He writhed on the ground in agony as the flesh started to literally melt._

"Reducto_," Harry said in a very cold voice. The one who had no wand hand left now had no torso left. Harry wiped the blood from his face and stalked toward the man he had burned._

"_How could you do this?" Harry asked the man. He didn't respond. The pain was too great for him._

"_HOW COUD YOU DO THIS!" Harry screamed at him. He still didn't respond. Harry raised his wand and fired a Killing Curse, ending it._

_He whirled around when he heard a noise, but discovered that it was just Helen slowly picking her way through the carnage in the hall. She had a look of shock on her face, and that snapped Harry's mind back into himself. His eyes roved unseeingly for minute, but then they focused on Helen again._

_She was looking at him with nothing but fear, and it deadened his heart to see that look directed at him. He finally looked around; comprehending what he'd done, and he started to shake. His mind tried to hold back to the tide, but a small, tormented noise escaped him and he sunk slowly to his knees. His eyes leaked tears and shuddering sobs started to wrack his body._

_This was the Harry that no one got to see. His emotions, insecurities, and guilt were laid bare. He was on his knees in the middle of the carnage he had created, letting out the emotions that had been building in him for weeks, months, even years. He didn't look up when Helen approached him and wrapped her small arms around his chest. She leaned her head against his collarbone, and they just stayed there for a few moments._

_Finally, some sense came to Harry. He had to get out of there._

_With a shaky voice, he said, "Helen, where's your room?" Silently, she led him by the hand to her room. He lifted her into her bed as the alarms started ringing through the hospital._

"_Helen…I-I don't know what to tell you…just, please, please, don't tell anyone I was here tonight," he pleaded with her._

_He wasn't sure what she was thinking, but was surprised when she said, "You saved me again, Mr. Potter. I'll do anything for you." Undying loyalty from a six year old. Harry had to bite back a sudden and out of place smile that threatened his lips. He was ashamed with himself for even having to hold one back._

_Harry hugged her tight and said good-bye, and Disapparated. He arrived in the garden of the Burrow. Putting his wand away, he made his way towards the back door of the house. The remains of his tears froze on his face in the blustery wind, but he didn't even notice._

----------

The image faded away and the office was left silent. The noiseless atmosphere stretched on, until Harry finally looked up from the floor at Dumbledore. He was staring Harry in the face. His expression was unreadable. It almost looked like he wanted Harry to say something, and that caused an irrational anger to build in Harry.

"What, do you want me to feel guilty for what I did?" he snapped.

Dumbledore didn't react at first, but then slowly let out his breath. He regarded Harry with his blue eyes. "No, Harry, you shouldn't feel guilty for that. They were killing children, after all. It's just…you were so brutal. I never thought I would see you killing in cold blood, Harry."

Harry was silent, so Dumbledore continued. "This does explain quite a lot, though. Minerva told me about that incident at the hospital; no one ever could explain what happened but they were all thankful that the Death Eaters only got a few of the children. What you've shown me clears that up."

Harry took a deep breath, and said, "I don't know what happened…I just…completely lost control." Harry's eyes were looking inwards, as if he was examining himself. "It was such an overwhelming feeling. I couldn't ignore it."

Dumbledore was looking at Harry with something like pity, but Harry didn't notice. "What couldn't you ignore?" he asked, prodding Harry to talk further.

Harry looked up. Dumbledore had to restrain himself from flinching away from the hate that was radiating from his eyes. He knew it wasn't directed at him, but it was still unsettling. There was something crackling in there that he wasn't sure he wanted to ever see again.

"The urge to kill," said Harry. It was such a simple statement, yet it had such profound implications. _To kill_, thought Dumbledore. _He actually had the urge to take a life_.

"Have you ever felt like that since," he asked Harry in a quiet voice. The sound of Dumbledore's voice seemed to drain the hate from his eyes, and he focused on Dumbledore once again.

"One other time."

"Voldemort?"

Harry shook his head. "I wanted to kill Voldemort…but it wasn't the same feeling." Harry stopped talking and another long silence descended upon the office.

Finally, Harry broke it. "Albus?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"How could they do that?"

"What do you mean?"

"_Why_ would they do that to children? The children weren't a threat to them. First the Orphanage…for some kind of _sick_ pleasures…then the Ward…for some random killing? I just don't get it. Why would they do that?"

Dumbledore looked at him for a long moment, trying to figure out the best way to tell Harry the answer to what he was asking. It was a difficult and unpleasant subject.

"Well Harry, to answer that question, you have to understand what makes a Death Eater a Death Eater."

Harry looked at him, but said nothing. Dumbledore continued. "The men and women that become Death Eaters are from two different molds. The first mold is made up of people who are easily led and corrupted into thinking that pure bloods are superior and that power is what they want. They enlist in the service of Voldemort because, as I'm sure you already know, his most dangerous weapon is his voice. He poisons their minds into thinking that his way is best.

"The second mold is made up people that Voldemort doesn't have to poison. These people are already depraved and crave power and death. You could call these people 'evil', but that would be trivializing the fact that they thrive in death and mayhem. The two molds usually stay separate from each because the first regards the second fearfully and the second regards the first haughtily.

"The Death Eaters you've run into are no doubt from the second, because, to be honest with you, I've never really encountered Death Eaters that are as barbaric as the one's you've met. The Orphanage and the Ward clearly show me that Voldemort's supporters took advantage of their position—many times in ways that no one wants to think about."

Harry looked at Dumbledore as if he'd just said the most brilliant thing in the world. It wasn't adoration, because Harry was still pissed at him, but it was something like it. It was…respect. Dumbledore was quite glad when he saw it, but he made no mention of it to Harry, because he didn't want to upset its growth.

Harry's look slowly changed to a crestfallen one, though. "So what does that make me?" he asked, looking at the floor.

Dumbledore's heart went out to Harry right then and there—the boy had been through so much and now he felt guilty for saving some kids. Sure, it was brutal and disgusting, but they were murdering kids.

"Harry, you are not a saint, but righteous anger is not something that you should feel guilty about. You _saved_ countless kids. I don't exactly condone your methods, but I can't honestly blame you for what you did. Even using the Killing Curse…it will just take me time to accept it fully."

Harry looked a little better, but his face went stony. "There is one more thing I want to show you." That was all he said, and he then pulled a silvery memory from his temple and put it in the Pensieve. He swirled it and a new image materialized in the air.

----------

_Harry awoke with a start. His scar was burning painfully, but there was only one thing on his mind: he had to get to the Burrow. He slipped from the dormitory, putting on his robe and his shoes as he did. It was a week after the students had returned from the holidays. He had had a very unsettling dream about the Burrow and what may or may not have been happening there, so he had to see. The fact that his scar hurt did nothing to ease his fears._

_He crept into McGonagall's office once again and took some floo powder. "The Burrow!" he said, throwing the powder into the fire. The next thing he knew he was tumbling out of the fireplace into the kitchen of the Burrow. He pulled his wand immediately and stood up carefully, peering around the dark room as he did so._

_He heard a sound coming from the living room and before he could do anything two bright green flashes lit the room. He dove out of the way, but the light had come from the living room. And there could be no mistake about what that light was: the Killing Curse._

_Shaken slightly, Harry got up and cautiously made his way toward the doorway into the living room. Wand at the ready, he peered around the corner. His heart literally stopped for two seconds at what he saw. Bellatrix Lestrange and two other Death Eaters were standing over the now dead bodies of Arthur and Molly Weasley. They were muttering something to each other._

_Harry almost passed out, but the uncontrollable rage that he'd felt only a little more than a week earlier flashed into him. It brought with it that urge to kill that felt so alien to him, but it also felt so right. He wanted to _slaughter_ these three. He lost himself in his rage again, and could only focus on what he intended to do to these…_things

_Stalking into the room, he shouted, "_DIFFINDODIFFINDO_!" The two Death Eaters on either side of Bellatrix fell to the ground, spurting blood from the separated halves of their bodies._

_Bellatrix whirled around, but before she could do anything, Harry yelled, "DIFFINDO!" cutting off her wand hand. She gripped it in agony and sank to the floor, in the middle of the four corpses that were strewn there._

"_Harry, Harry, please-" she tried to gasp out, but he was at her in heartbeat and kicked her solidly in the face. There was dull crunching sound and when she looked up, what was left of her nose was pouring blood._

"_Have mercy…" she croaked out._

"_HAVE MERCY? HOW COULD I HAVE MERCY, YOU HORRIBLE BITCH? LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE! THEY WERE LIKE PARENTS TO ME! DO YOU EVEN REALIZE WHAT YOU'VE DONE?" he screamed, seeing nothing but the red color of his fury. He kicked her viciously again, this time in the chest. He felt a few of her ribs break, but thought nothing of it. She hitched in her breath and fell over on her side._

_Harry grabbed her by the collar and yanked her back up, snarling into her face. "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into." He paused…then, "_CRUCIO_!"_

_Bellatrix writhed around on the ground in the spreading pools of blood, grunting and screaming in agony as the power of the curse coursed through every one of her nerves. Harry held it for two minutes, stopping only when she stopped moving. Her breathing was coming in shallow gasps, and she was unconscious._

"REDUCTO_!" he said, pointing his wand at her lower leg. It vaporized in a shower of blood. She screamed her way back to consciousness, painfully aware that she was losing body parts rapidly._

_Harry pulled her up again and looked her dead in her violet eyes. "How does it feel to be the one that's being tortured?" His voice was cold, unrelenting, and laced with pure malice. "How would you like a searing blade?" Her eyes widened when she realized what he was talking about, and she started blubbering. He took no notice of it._

"_Lamna ferveo," Harry said, and watched as his wand turned into fiery knife. He pressed the flat of the blade into the side of her face, burning her skin unmercifully. She screamed louder and harder than ever, but didn't pass out. He pulled the knife away and almost cringed when some melted skin came with it, but he shoved that thought aside._

"_This is your repayment for all of the terrible things you've done to my friends, my family, and I." And with those words, he plunged the knife into her abdomen, twisting it and driving it deeper. She screamed until her vocal chords couldn't handle it anymore and then finally passed out._

_Harry stood up and let his wand transform back to normal, and performed the Killing Curse to end it. He looked around, fighting the urge to retch, and levitated the corpses of Arthur and Molly out of the mess. He went into the kitchen and put his head into his hands._

----------

Harry was almost afraid to look at Dumbledore when it ended, because he didn't think he would be able to handle the disgust that was surely showing on the old man's face.

"Harry."

Harry didn't look up.

"Harry, look at me."

Very slowly, and against his will, he looked up and met the Headmaster's gaze. He didn't find disgust, though; rather, he found something that almost looked like regret and maybe even a tiny bit of pity.

"I thought you would be disgusted," Harry said, quietly.

"As I should be," said Dumbledore, thoughtfully, "but again, I cannot blame you for what you've done. Your methods are a little…how shall I put this…_unorthodox_…but that memory shows the lengths you are willing to go to protect the ones you love."

Dumbledore paused briefly, as if collecting himself. "However, there is a fine line between righteous anger and being vindictive, which I think you may have crossed in that particular instance. That is what you have to be careful of, Harry. Torture is an awful thing, and I can tell that you regret what you did to her, but what's done is done. I'm just glad you appeared to have learned a lesson from it."

Harry nodded, feeling relief flood through him for some reason. He was still pissed at the man, but that was quickly fading away with Dumbledore's wise words and knowledge. He now realized why he'd missed him so much.

"All right, well I think I've said all I can for tonight. Goodnight, Albus."

"Goodnight, Harry." Harry turned to leave. "Oh, one more thing. Would you be willing to give a short speech tomorrow evening?"

"Er…I suppose so. What do you want me to say?"

"Anything you want, my boy. Anything at all." Harry nodded thoughtfully, and turned away.

----------

Harry stood at the back of the Great Hall, by the doors, listening to Dumbledore address the school. It was now Thursday night and classes had begun again earlier in the day. Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were standing next to him, listening to Dumbledore as well. Harry hadn't told them what he'd been doing in Dumbledore's office, but they chose not to ask him.

All three of them felt some kind of rift was going up between Harry and them, and that it had started soon after Harry had ended Voldemort's reign. Ron and Hermione felt it the most, because at least Ginny was still close to him on a very personal level. Ron had the ugly feeling that he was slowly losing his best friend, Hermione felt like the only brother she'd ever known was drifting away, and Ginny knew that her conversations with him in the past few days had been filled with long, uncomfortable silences.

Harry, however, was clueless to their feelings. He was wrapped up in his own difficulties, and he either didn't care or didn't notice what was happening between him and the three people who he was closest to.

"…and Harry Potter would like to say a few words…" came from the front of the room.

Four hundred heads swiveled in his direction and Harry muttered to his friends, "That's my cue." With a slightly resigned sigh, he made his way toward the podium at the front of the Hall. He nodded at Dumbledore who winked at him with his twinkling eyes, and stood behind it. He gazed out across the sea of faces and realized that they thought of him as some sort of god—he was isolated from them because they all looked up to him and what he'd done. He felt a sinking sensation then, and realized for the first time what the real downside to being idolized was. The only people that he would ever be comfortable with were those that thought of him as an equal.

Shaking himself from his unfortunate reverie, he spoke to the Great Hall. "There is one thing that I want to make clear tonight. For the first time in all of our lives we can live without fear; we can be without the terrible feeling of unease every time we step outside or the horrible paranoia of always looking over our shoulder. Voldemort—" he ignored the flinches "—has been rampaging for our entire lives. He's been a specter, hindering our thoughts and our progress as a generation. Now that he is no longer a threat, we can all go about our lives like normal young people…"

Harry trailed off and brought a hand to his forehead to rub it. It had begun to prickle painfully and he could no longer ignore it. People were looking at him with curious faces, but he suddenly became aware of some kind of magical presence outside of the castle. It was the weirdest feeling…almost like a pressure on his mind. He gave Dumbledore a quick look and saw that he was watching him carefully, and then nodded toward the doors.

The crown made a noise as Harry set off at a sprint out of the Great Hall and then out of the main doors of the castle. Harry stopped after a few seconds of running and looked toward the gate. There was something happening there, but he couldn't quite make it out. Something…no, someone…no, there were a lot of people down there. He ran further to get a closer look, and stopped dead in his tracks when he realized what he was seeing.

There were about twenty-five to thirty figures dressed in black robes by the gates of Hogwarts, but there was someone else with them. This person had light blond hair and was dressed in a pair of ratty slacks and a bloody t-shirt. It looked like they were…_playing_ with this person. The Death Eaters were levitating him and dropping him, using the Cruciatus on him, and basically just torturing him.

Harry felt that old rage and horrifying disgust welling up in him, and did nothing to stop it. The transformation was instantaneous this time, and it was accompanied by a loud, thundering _Boom_. Harry stood there in his 'ascended' form, growing angrier by the second at what he was seeing. It brought back the old blind fury and bloodlust. He had ascended, but this time it was different. His aura was black—as black as the night around him. Except for the very edge of it, which was a deep red color, he was surrounded by something darker than the night.

The Death Eaters looked up at the noise and paused for a second, dropping the figure to the ground in the process. What they saw confused them. It was clearly Harry Potter, but they couldn't make sense of it. He was surrounded by…night? Something very black permeated the air around his body, and about 10 feet from his body in all directions was a red ring.

One of the Death Eaters raised his wand to the figure on the ground and said, "Avada Ked-"

He was cut off by Harry screaming, "NOO!" None of the Death Eaters saw it because of the night, but when Harry had screamed, thirty black tendrils shot from his aura toward them. They all dropped without a noise, their hearts exploding in their chests when the tendrils hit them.

Unsure of exactly what he'd done, Harry descended and rushed over to the figure lying prone on the ground. He turned the person over onto their stomach and gasped at what he saw. The face was unmistakable. He was looking at Draco Malfoy.


	7. Truths

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: Hope you enjoy!**

----------

Chapter 7: Truths

Harry found himself sitting in the Great Hall Friday morning, trying to ignore the looks he knew people were sending him and feeling the nervous energy that was buzzing through the air. He concentrated on his food, avoiding even the eyes of Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, who still weren't quite sure what happened the night before. There was a titter of birds and a flutter of a multitude of wings, and Harry looked up. The Owl Post had arrived and the owls were bringing in the mail.

Harry had been dreading this moment, because he knew that most of the students subscribed to the Daily Prophet, including himself, and he was sure that there would be some article in there about him. At least one reporter had been at Hogwarts the night before to record what him and Dumbledore had to say. A few currier owls swooped low onto their table, and those who read the paper reached for one. They tipped the owner and off they flew. Ron's face confirmed what Harry had feared.

"Harry…" Ron said.

"Is it that bad?" he asked. Ron only nodded his head.

Harry unrolled his own paper and stared at the huge, bold headline:

_**BOY-WHO-LIVED SHOWS TRUE POWER; KILLS 30 DEATH EATERS SINGLE-HANDEDL**_Y

**Harry Potter, in an impressive display of power, ends the search for the rest of the Death Eaters**

By: George Deacon

_HOGWARTS_—_The Boy-Who-Lived proved why he was able to end You-Know-Who's reign last weekend. Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter were explaining to the students and faculty of Hogwarts, as well as members of the press, what occurred in the Dark Fortress last Saturday when Mr. Potter ran quite unexpectedly from the Great Hall. He had been giving a rousing speech about how his generation could live on and prosper now that the threat to them was gone, but that was interrupted with his quick exit. He gave no explanation and no pretense—he just left._

_Upon arriving outside, it was quite clear that something terrible was happening. A large group of Death Eaters, which later was confirmed as the last remaining force of the You-Know-Who, was doing something awful to an innocent soul. How did Mr. Potter know that it was happening? How did the Death Eaters get so close to Hogwarts? These questions may never be answered, but one thing is for sure: don't mess with the Boy-Who-Lived._

_When he saw what they were doing, he went into a rage and shouted something that sounded like, "NOO!" Shortly thereafter, all thirty Death Eaters dropped dead, unmoving. Mr. Potter rushed to the aid of the fallen one, and Apparated away (this is supposed to be impossible inside the grounds of Hogwarts). It was later confirmed that he had taken the injured one to the school's Infirmary, where renowned Healer Madam Pomfrey is sure to be taking care of him (or her)._

_Further investigation into the events outside led to the discovery of the cause of death of each of the Death Eaters—their hearts had exploded within their chests, causing instant death. The thing that puzzles everyone is what Mr. Potter did exactly? There was no outward display of power, except a faint red ring, and there is no spell on record that causes the hearts of thirty men to blow up. A colleague thought he noticed a blackness surrounding Potter, but it was night out. Everyone was surrounded by blackness._

_Whatever the case may be, once again we all owe our lives and safety to the 17-year-old wizard. Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore were unavailable for comment, but rest easy knowing that the staff here at the _Daily Prophet_ will continue to monitor this story closely. This reporter is just glad the Boy-Who-Lived fights for the Light, for he would be a formidable enemy._

_For a full story about the fall of Voldemort, see page 2._

Harry didn't lift his eyes when he was done reading the paper. It was still in his hands long after his eyes had finished their back-and-forth movement, but those eyes acquired a distant look. Harry was silently reflecting on himself, with a bitterness that was growing by the second. How could he have done those things—those terrible, ungodly things that he'd done to those Death Eaters?

Sure, they had done terrible, ungodly things to kids and who knows who else, but did that make him any better than them? Dumbledore's comforting words of a few nights before provided little solace at this point, because the words of the article had stung him somewhere deep inside his fractured soul—a soul that he wasn't even aware that it was in pieces. How could he have done those things to Bellatrix, knowing that he despised her very being because she had done the same things to countless others?

The unguarded fear on her face was the image that kept coming back to Harry. It had been just before he'd turned his wand into the flaming knife. She had nearly wet herself with the terror, and it had been because of _him._ The terror wasn't rooted in any sort of just punishment; no, he was harming her because it brought him pleasure. It brought him _pleasure_. The thought sickened him, and his face grimaced into a look of utter self-loathing. He had no idea how he'd lived with himself for so long, but he didn't want to anymore. He had tortured someone and had enjoyed it without a second thought. Even if it was Bellatrix Lestrange, who had tried to kill and maim many of his friends and himself, he couldn't bring himself to accept what he'd done as justifiable. It just wasn't right.

Harry had always considered himself a righteous and dependable person, but now that he looked at himself in this new light—he had _blown up the hearts_ of thirty men without a second thought—he couldn't hold that consideration any longer. He hated himself and what he'd become, but most of all, he hated Voldemort because he'd forced him to become this new person.

Someone's voice startled him from his thoughts: "Harry?" It was Ginny. He finally looked up and noticed that she was looking intently at his face, which no doubt showed the bitter loathing he was feeling in all of its glory. He also noticed that Ron and Hermione were regarding him with guarded looks, and he thought he even saw some fear there. His peripheral vision told him that he was receiving the same look from many others around table and the hall.

He'd managed to alienate his two best friends and the rest of Hogwarts in one ill-fated and unplanned decision to save the innocent person on the ground, who just happened to be the not-so-innocent Draco Malfoy. _Great. They all hate you now_, a bitter voice inside his head said._ And they should. After what you've done? Who wouldn't hate you, Potter. You killed thirty men. Like nothing. You took thirty lives with nothing more than a thought in that general direction. If life means so little to you now, they have every reason to be afraid of you. What if you got angry with one of them? For stepping in your way, or spilling a potion on you, or simply talking when you didn't want to hear their voice. Would you snap and kill them?_

The voice was insistent and it was insipid. It ate away at his mind, sending horrendous visions and driving him over the edge. He stood abruptly from his place at the table and rushed from the Great Hall. Ron and Hermione stared after Harry, wondering what had happened to the once innocent Boy-Who-Lived. They had both taken lives during the war, but never with such callousness as Harry had displayed the previous night. Ginny stared after Harry, feeling a sudden and overwhelming desperation for Harry that she couldn't explain to herself and didn't want to try to. It seemed to her that something between her and Harry was ready to explode if they didn't nip it in the bud.

The doors slammed on themselves, adding a strange finality to Harry's exit, and it left everyone with their own thoughts. Harry rushed from the castle and out onto the grounds. He made his way toward the lake and flopped down on the edge. His mind, very reluctantly, carried him away from the sunny day to the night before…

----------

_Harry gave one last look at the unconscious form lying in one of the beds of the Infirmary, and turned to leave the Ward. He hadn't seen Draco Malfoy since the night Malfoy failed to kill Dumbledore as he was ordered. He had a hard time believing that it was really the Slytherin Prince himself, but there was no doubting that pale blond hair and the white skin—Madam Pomfrey had confirmed that this person's magical signal was that of Draco Malfoy. Why had he come back at this point, though, and more importantly, why had the Death Eaters turned on him?_

_He started to walk away from the Infirmary with these thoughts weighing on his mind, but stopped when a low voice said, "Please come to my office, Harry." Harry was startled from his thoughts and noticed that Dumbledore had turned on his heel and was striding quickly in the direction of his office. The man's countenance was stiff and formed—far from the usual jovial gait he possessed._

_He ran and caught up with him, but fell in by his side in silence when he glanced at the stony look on Dumbledore's face. They walked in this fashion, side-by-side and not speaking, all of the way into the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore went around his desk and sat in his chair, motioning for Harry to sit in an opposite one. He did so._

_Silence ruled for a few moments as both men simply looked at each other. Harry's look was one of confusion while Dumbledore's was a cold mask._

"_Explain yourself," Dumbledore said. There was no emotion in his voice._

"_Sir?" Harry had no idea what Dumbledore wanted._

"_You heard me."_

"_Albus, I have no idea what you're talking about."_

"_DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU DID?" the Headmaster suddenly yelled. His eyes had gone a dangerous icy blue._

_Harry recoiled from the sudden shouting and stammered out, "N-no…"_

_Dumbledore took a deep breath and appeared to calm himself. "Tell me, Harry, what do you know of what you did tonight? Regarding Mr. Malfoy, of course."_

_A small inkling of understanding dawned on Harry, but it did nothing to ease his troubled conscience. "They were torturing him—killing him. Death Eaters at Hogwarts? Do you really expect me do nothing? After what they've done? You've seen it yourself, sir; I hope you're not questioning what I've done."_

_Dumbledore shook his head slightly. "I thought you were smarter than this Harry. Did we not talk about how vengeance can consume? What you did tonight was fueled by nothing more than petty vengeance."_

_Harry exploded into his anger, which had been threatening for a while. "PETTY VENGEANCE? IS THAT WHAT YOU THINK THIS IS? THEY WERE GOING TO KILL AGAIN. I COULDN'T LET THEM—"_

"_KILL, HARRY? WHAT DID YOU DO? DID YOU NOT JUST KILL 30 PEOPLE WITHOUT A SECOND THOUGHT?" Albus roared back. Harry disregarded the fact that he'd never seen the Headmaster so angry._

"_This is different, Albus," Harry seethed. "They are Death Eaters. They get off on violence and torture. They don't deserve to live."_

"_Back to this, are we?" Dumbledore asked, in an uncharacteristic show of sarcasm. "It is not up to you to decide the value of life, Harry. As I said earlier, there are certain instances where one can't be faulted for taking a life, but this Harry…this was too extreme."_

_Harry was silent for a moment, contemplating the words of his mentor. "Why all of the sudden, Albus? Why like this? What's different about this than what I showed you?"_

"_Nothing, Harry, and that's my point. You said you've only had the true to urge to kill twice, and you showed me both instances. However, it seems tonight a third instance has occurred."_

"_So what," Harry spat, unwilling to even think about mercy for Death Eaters._

"_So what? SO WHAT? Harry, did you not look around at ALL or notice what was going on out there?"_

"_What are you talking about; of course I saw what was going on. They were going to kill Malfoy, and then laugh and have a party about it. Well, I'm sorry Albus, but I'm not gonna just sit back and watch those fuckers do that! It was them or him, and it certainly should and always will be them."_

_Dumbledore made a resigned noise and slumped a bit. "Harry, this isn't about whether they deserved it or not. Did you notice that you had ascended?"_

"_Mm…no, I guess not."_

"_And do you know why you didn't notice?"_

"_No. I always have before and it is a pretty distinct feeling."_

"_Well, from what I could see, the transformation or whatever you want to call it was instantaneous. One minute you were Harry Potter, the next minute you were Harry Killer."_

_Harry was silent, but gave Dumbledore a questioning look. The last thing that he'd said caught Harry off guard. "Harry Killer?" he asked slowly._

"_Your aura was black, Harry. It was darker than the night. It looked like you were standing in the middle of a black hole…"_

_Harry was still silent, his thoughts returning to his feelings while he had watched the Death Eaters gleefully play with the battered body of Draco Malfoy. He had hated them with every bit of his being._

"_I assume you want to know why I am so upset with you, Harry?" Harry nodded at the wise old man._

_Dumbledore sighed. "I was afraid I was going to lose you."_

"_Lose me, Albus?"_

"_With powers like ours, there are certain consequences. A black aura signifies hate of the deepest kind, one that a soul cannot return from when finally engulfed in it. I was afraid I was going to lose you to that hate when I saw the aura…"_

"_If it was black like you said, why didn't you? If a soul can't return from it, why am I not a psychotic killer right now?" Harry had to ask that question, even if it was extremely morbid. His curiosity got the better of him._

"_Because it wasn't all black, Harry. There was a tiny bit of red on the outside of it, but you were dangerously close to being engulfed by that raging hatred. I know that you have good reason for something close to that hatred, but you _have to_ control yourself from now on. If that ever occurs again, I don't doubt that it will be all black. And then there'd be no stopping you, Harry. Not even I could counter you if you were in that hateful rage."_

_Harry shuddered. He had almost become exactly what he hated so much. Terrible visions slithered their way into his consciousness—him killing Snape because he got offended, him killing Ginny, him killing Ron and Hermione…Harry put his head in his hands. He couldn't stop himself—the tears were coming and try as he might they couldn't be held back. Slow, fat drops leaked out of his eyes when he realized what he'd become._

_Dumbledore's anger and frustration melted away as it had done before when he saw the broken shell of teenager before him in all of his vulnerability. Harry was a damaged soul, and it was because he had been born into something that put the weight of the world on his shoulders from day one. It was a wonder that he hadn't snapped yet._

"_I've decided that the extra training the students have been seeking won't happen as we had planned. I'm going to personally train only you this summer, Harry, so you can get a better grasp over what your capable of and over controlling that power within. Graduation is on a Friday this year, so the following Monday we will begin. That also brings me to another thing—do you have any plans for employment?"_

_Harry looked up, cheeks still wet from the tears that had managed to escape his eyes. He shook his head, not trusting his voice to not crack._

"_Ah, well, I was wondering if you'd like to become the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher here at Hogwarts?"_

_Harry stared at the man. Not five minutes before, he had been more furious with him than Harry had ever seen, but now he was offering Harry a job. Harry shook his head and smirked a tiny bit—_the world works in strange ways_, he thought._

"_I'd be honored, Albus. Thank you," he said, with great sincerity. He had never really thought about what he was going to do with his education before, but now that the perfect job had landed in his lap, he could be nothing but thankful._

"_It is my pleasure; I'm sure you will make a wonderful teacher. Now, there are some other matters to discuss. How is Mr. Malfoy?"_

"_Madam Pomfrey said he was catatonic and that his heart and brain were slowly failing. She didn't think there was anything that could be done."_

"_What is the extent of the damage?" Dumbledore asked._

"_Well, she said that the extensive use of the Cruciatus had scarred his neural pathways, and that they couldn't be repaired by magical or Muggle means. There was also something else…she said it was a cursed called_ Infractum_…that had considerably weakened his heart muscles. She said that damage was irreparable as well."_

_Dumbledore merely nodded his head, as if expecting something of the sort. "And what do you think of this?"_

_Harry shrugged. "There was never any love lost between him and I, but I do kind of pity the existence he was forced into. Being born a Malfoy basically sealed his fate that he would serve Voldemort, and there was little he could do besides signing his own death warrant that could have resisted that."_

_Dumbledore chuckled, and Harry eyed him. "What's so funny, old man?"_

_Dumbledore said, wryly, "Don't you find it ironic that you being born a Potter sealed your fate that you would _fight_ Voldemort, and there was little you could do or probably wanted to do change that? You and Mr. Malfoy had more in common than you might think."_

"_I will never be like Draco Malfoy. Our lives may hold similarities, but our existences have been entirely separate. I would rather it that I was never compared to any Malfoy again, Albus. The name not only brings shame to the Wizarding World, but it also brings back memories of what they were capable of. I will never be like what Draco was."_

"_And why is that?"_

"_Because I chose to lead a life—"_

"_Harry, you can stop right there." Harry gave Dumbledore a questioning look. "Do you remember what I said to you long ago about 'choice', Harry? 'It is our choices, Harry, that show us who we truly are, far more than our abilities.' At every turn in your life, you could have chosen to disregard the responsibility that Fate gave you and lead a life outside of it. However, you _chose_ to stay and fight in a battle that has been raging for more than twice your lifetime, and you _chose_ to put yourself in harm's way."_

_It was Harry's turn to chuckle. Dumbledore, however, wasn't sure what so amusing in his little speech. He raised an eyebrow._

"_Ah, Albus, I have just found my own little irony. Choice is such an integral part of life, yet it was Fate—something beyond choice—that ultimately decided what my purpose in life was going to be."_

_Dumbledore smiled at Harry. "You have just hit upon one of the most paradoxical problems of the world, Harry. Choice is eternally ours. It is a right that is given to all sentient beings, but humans more so than any other creature. It is your eternal right to decide your Fate with your choices." Dumbledore chuckled. "It keeps going around in a circle, but we will talk more about this later. For now, I just want you to know that your efforts are greatly appreciated and everyone, whether they be Muggle or magical, owes you a debt that they can't repay."_

_Harry waved his hand, dismissing it, "Voldemort was an insane maniac. He was so evil he didn't even realize how comical and stereotypical he was. He reveled in mayhem and had little death parties with his cronies. Honestly, now that he's gone, I can say that he reminds me of villains in Muggle comic books. He had no place in this world."_

"_Alright, now that you've downplayed the undying gratitude of a few billion people, are there any other questions you have?" the Headmaster asked Harry._

_There were actually a few things that had been weighing on Harry's mind, but he hadn't had the time or the opportunity to ask Dumbledore about them._

"_Actually, now that you mention, yes there are. Firstly, I just realized that we were Apparating insides Hogwarts' grounds during our duel. And also, last night I Apparated from the gates into the Infirmary. I thought—and Hermione would surely back me up on this—that it was supposed to be impossible."_

_The twinkle finally returned to the old man's blue eyes. "I lowered the anti-Apparition wards within the shields I put up. Since Voldemort has been defeated, they aren't completely necessary anymore. As for your little trick last night, I couldn't tell you how it happened. The wards were in place. It probably had something to do with the level of power you were exuding at the time."_

_Harry nodded. "Makes sense…ok, this next question has been bothering me for awhile now. When I…kissed Ginny," Harry blushed a bit, "the other day, I was in the altered state. She exhibited, um, an aura. I wasn't aware that she had the ability to do that."_

"_Well, Harry, one of the properties of this extension of your powers is that, with the tactile sense, another person can show the characteristics that you do. And if they are sharing a mutual feeling in the process, then that is magnified."_

_Harry had a dumbfounded look on his face. "Umm…could you try that again, in English? I have no idea that meant."_

_Dumbledore gave Harry a small smile and elaborated. "She was touching you during the kiss—obviously—so, because you were in your ascended form, some of the outward signs were temporarily transferred to her as well. And because she was sharing the same emotion at the time, which I assume was love, it was magnified."_

"_Oh, ok…but, are the auras supposed to be the same color for each person? My 'love' aura, or whatever, is green, like me eyes. Hers was red."_

"_It differs from person to person, most of the time."_

"_Most of the time?" Harry asked._

"_There are two auras, that I know of, that are the same regardless of the person. You have already seen one of them."_

"_I have?"_

_Dumbledore nodded. "Black, Harry. Hatred is universal."_

_Harry, remembering the start of their conversation, decided not to ask more. Dumbledore continued, however. "The other one is white. There isn't a specific emotion tied to it, as it's more of a…purpose…that allows a person to attain it. Some very, very powerful attributes are associated with a white aura."_

"_Can we get it?"_

"_No, Harry, I'm afraid that it can't be willed into. From everything I've read, all instances of white auras have been stumbled upon, where something caused it outside of the wizard's or witch's intentions. However, we can train for it, if it should ever happen."_

_Harry had been given a lot to think about, but he still had one more nagging question. "Alright, before I go, there is one more thing. It has been bothering me for a few days now." Harry paused, as if thinking about how he wanted to word the question. "Why did you decide to check our wands that day in your office?"_

"_I was wondering when that question would come up, but I'm rather surprised that it wasn't Ms. Granger that ultimately asked it. The short answer, Harry, is that I was curious. I wanted to compare your methods to that of my own during my defeat of Grindelwald."_

"_Is that really the only reason, Albus?" Harry gave him a knowing look._

"_You are too intuitive, it seems, for me to fool you. The other reason is that I wanted to see if the four of you had decided to use the Killing Curse or not." Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Dumbledore held up his hand to stop him. "That is a moot point at this juncture. Let's not worry about it."_

_Harry dipped his head in acquiescence, and stood to leave. Dumbledore addressed him. "Is that all, Harry?"_

_Harry stopped. "Actually, one more thing. I almost forgot. Could Helen visit Hogwarts this weekend?"_

_Dumbledore nodded and smiled openly for the first time since the start of their little meeting. "Of course! That's a wonderful idea. I'll arrange it with St. Mungo's at once. Saturday or Sunday?"_

"_Mmm…both days?" Harry couldn't help but be excited. Helen would love all of this._

"_I suppose that can be managed. I'm sure she will be a very happy girl."_

"_Yes, I'm sure she will," Harry said, and turned to leave._

"_Just remember, Harry, that I'm not truly angry with you. I was just afraid to lose you. Until the summer when we can train, you _must_ keep yourself under control. I don't want any…accidents."_

_Harry nodded and continued on. He left Dumbledore's office with the Headmaster's final words ringing in his ears: _I don't want any…accidents.

----------

Harry woke with a start. He had no idea where he was or what time it was. All he could see was blue; a vast, clear blue stretched out infinitely before him. He was aware of a gentle pressure on his chest and he could hear what sounded like water lapping gently onto a shore.

The realization hit him at once. He had fallen asleep on the shores of the lake after storming from Hogwarts. He lifted his head and saw that the pressure on his chest was a pale arm with some freckles. He turned his head and saw that at some point Ginny had come out to join him. She had lain down next to him and fallen asleep, curling up a bit and snuggling into Harry's side.

Harry couldn't help but smile a bit when he saw her peaceful face. Her eyes were gently moving behind her lids and her chest rose and fell slowly as the deep, measured breathing of sleep took her to her dreams. A few stray wisps of her hair had fallen over her face, resting on the cheek that was pointed toward the sky. Harry carefully turned his head and leaned in close, grazing her ruby lips with his. He felt a tiny tremor run through her body and heard a small sound, and she snuggled a little closer to Harry.

Harry openly smirked now. Ginny was too good for him. She was so beautiful, caring, and loving, and had stood by his side in the face of the unspeakable evil. He couldn't ask for more from her and was glad that she found him worthy of her love. He had known of her crush on him since his second year, but he hadn't known that it was so much more since about a year before. And the most surprising thing, to Harry, at least, was that he reciprocated those feelings just as strongly as she gave them. He loved Ginny Weasly.

He leaned in again and met her lips with his own in a full kiss, melting his passion into her as turned onto his side and pulled her closer to his body. She woke and tensed for a second, but quickly realized that Harry was kissing her. She met the previously one-sided kiss with just as much passion as Harry was giving, driving her lips against his and slightly parting them.

He didn't hesitate from this invitation and was soon lost in the wonders of his lover's mouth. His hands took a mind of their own and started to wander aimlessly over her clothes, gently gliding over the smooth surfaces and sending shimmers down her spine. He broke the kiss for a bit of air and looked into her eyes, smiling.

"Time to wake up," he joked.

"Ugh…why can't my alarm be that satisfying?" she asked him, and leaned back in for another kiss, which they both settled into again. His hands ended up on her lower back, gently pressing her into him. She had one of hers in his hair on the back of his head and the other was on a shoulder blade, adding more pressure, bringing their two bodies harder against each other. Harry's hand slowly moved lower and lower, until he had placed it gently onto the soft roundness of her behind.

Ginny broke the kiss and looked at Harry. "Sorry," he mumbled, and blushed, quickly withdrawing his hand from the wayward position. Ginny laced a finger over his lips.

"Don't be. It's ok," she said, and continued the kiss with a stronger passion than before. Harry hesitated for a moment, and then placed both hands on her rear, drawing her against him. She was kissing him with a fervor that he hadn't felt before, and he could sense his body responding. Because of their proximity, she felt it too, and made a small grunting noise into their kiss, moving against him slightly.

Harry felt like he was burning up. They had never done anything this forward before, but he found that he couldn't stop. It just felt so…right. One of his hands left her rear and moved around to the front, slipping between the folds of her robe and underneath her undershirt. The firm muscles of her flat stomach were just as hot as he was, and he felt goose bumps break out on her skin there as he lightly caressed it with his fingertips.

He moved from her lips and was kissing along her jaw, towards her ear, as his hand slowly moved up over her navel, gliding across the smooth skin. His lips slid down the side of her neck, gently applying pressure here and there, eliciting soft moans from Ginny. Her head was thrown back and her mouth was open slightly, and her back was arched, making Harry even more aware of his arousal as Ginny was wedged tightly against it. She didn't seem to mind, though, and appeared to be coaxing it as she slowly moved against it.

Harry's hand had reached as far as he would allow it to go, and so it stopped just before the modest swell of her breast. He resigned it to gently caressing the flesh near there, and focused on what his lips were doing to her neck. Ginny had other ideas however, as she disentangled a hand from his hair and moved over her robes to the hand that was beneath. Harry took that as a sign that he had gone to far, and tried to pull away, but Ginny pressed it against herself and trapped it against her skin. She wrapped her hand around his through her robes and slowly drew it up, gently guiding it to her breast. Once Harry got the idea, her hand went back to his hair and she moved her back down and met his lips in the most searing kiss he'd ever experienced.

The hand that was now moving of its own accord against her nipple and the pressure of her lips against his was a little too much for his mind, and he felt himself losing control. If he didn't stop now, he didn't know if would be able to at all. Using all of his will power, he pulled his hand from her shirt and pulled his head back, breathing hard. "Ginny…" he panted. She looked a little hurt.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked in a quiet voice.

He smoothed her striking hair and said, "No, of course not, you could never do anything wrong…it's just, I thought we were going to wait…you know, for something special. Do we really want to do this on the shore of the lake in full view of the castle?" he asked and turned red, realizing that they were, indeed, in view of several classrooms.

Ginny gave him a look so full of love and affection that it caught him off guard. "Why are you so good to me? I was ready to let it happen, but now I'm thinking that I lost my head. I love you…" she said, pecking him on the lips. Then she smiled mischievously and glanced down. With a small coughing noise, she said, "So, what are we doing to do about…that…"

"About…what?" Harry asked, but then realized a certain straining pressure on his slacks. His face turned scarlet and he mumbled incoherently. "…cold…water…" were the only two words that Ginny heard, and she watched bemusedly as he stood up and rushed, fully clothed, into the cold waters of the lake. She realized that she had her own arousal to deal with, but it wasn't as noticeable as Harry's…problem. She stood up, brushing her robes off, and then smoothing them.

She laughed openly at Harry as he waded from the lake, sopping wet and visibly shivering. It seemed to do the trick, because he was smirking at her. Once on shore, he dried and warmed himself with two quick charms.

"What time is it?" he asked her. They started walking back toward the castle, hand in hand.

"Only 10:30," she replied.

"Ah good, so we only missed one class. Oh well…I needed that," he said, giving a sly look to Ginny. She responded with a slight tinge to her cheeks but also a bright smile. He put his arm around her waist and she leaned into him, slowly exhaling. It was a warm, contented sound.

"What happened last night, Harry?" He was silent, so she continued. "What's the big deal with all of this?"

"Ginny…I'd rather not talk about it right now."

"Alright, Harry; I don't want us to get into another argument at the moment so we won't, but sometime you have to tell me what's been going on. It's going to kill you to keep all of this bottled inside."

Harry sighed. He'd suddenly realized that he desperately wanted to tell her, to get all of it off his back and let someone else know what he'd seen, but he couldn't bring himself to subject her to those images.

"I can't…" he started, but decided to bend a little at her growl of frustration. It was a low and guttural noise, and it sent a jolt of electricity through his body—_must be left over from before_, he mused. "Alright, maybe after this weekend."

"After this weekend? Why _this_ weekend?" she asked, giving him a sideways look as they strolled into the Entrance Hall of the school. Everything was silent as they stopped in the middle of the expansive space.

"I think you'll understand come Monday. Just trust me, alright?" She nodded at his request, and leaned in for a quick kiss.

"I'll see you later, babe," she whispered, and turned to head to her second class of the day. He turned away from her retreating back and did likewise. Suddenly, he turned on his heels.

"Ginny!" he yelled. "Wait a minute!" She turned and met him in the middle of the lobby again.

"Want an encore?" she smirked, making Harry's cheeks turn a bit red again. He shook his head stupidly.

"There is something I wanted to tell you, though. Guess who's going to be your DADA teacher next year?"

She acquired a horrified look and said, "Err…Snape again?"

Chuckling, Harry shook his head. "No, no…he's going to stay on as Potions Professor."

"Well then, who is it?" she asked, growing impatient with his playfulness.

"Me," he stated. He enjoyed watching her face as it went from impatience to understanding to radiance.

"Harry, that's wonderful! I'm so happy for you. That has to be a record—surely you'll be the youngest Professor, by far, that Hogwarts has ever seen. I'm sure Hermione could confirm that for you, but damn! That's awesome. So should I start calling you 'Professor Harry'?" she asked coyly, batting her eyelashes and pouting her lips at him.

"No!" he cried, in mock horror, and then smiled. "I think 'Sir' will suffice."

"Yes, sir," she whispered huskily, and then turned on her heel and headed away from him, leaving him standing there.

He pouted at her back and crossed his arms. "That's not fair, you know! I'll get you for that!"

"It's a date, Professor Potter…" she called, her voice fading as she rounded a corner. He grinned like a fool and turned toward his class that he was definitely late for now.

----------

Harry exited his final class of the day—Potions—and stood by the door as the rest of the seventh year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs filed out. Ron and Hermione were the last two out, but he didn't follow them as they headed out of the dungeons.

"Aren't you coming, Harry?" Ron called.

Harry shook his head. "I'll meet you guys at dinner," he called back. They nodded and turned slowly away from, immediately engaging in what looked like a heated conversation. Ron was gesticulating wildly; some of it was obviously aimed in Harry's direction. Harry watched them disappear up the stairs, and took a deep breath. He turned back to the door and pushed it open.

Snape looked up as Harry walked in, regarding him with a curious look. Potter had never come back into a Potions class for any reason, so it was a strange sight indeed. He had a troubled look on his face.

"Professor Snape, do you mind if I ask you a question?" Harry asked. He looked hesitant.

"You can call me Severus, Harry, and of course, go ahead."

The boy appeared to steel himself before speaking, but finally opened his mouth. "What is with the sudden change of heart? You've always hated my friends and I, and now you're being…well, _nice_. It's strange, and I can't figure it out."

Snape smirked, which was characteristic of him, but what was uncharacteristic was the lack of malice in it. "Well, there are a few reasons for that, Harry. Why don't you sit down," he replied as he motioned to a desk in the front row. Harry did so.

"You obviously know by now that I've been a double agent, spying on the Dark Lord while pretending to be a loyal servant by 'spying' on Dumbledore." Harry nodded. "The Dark Mark had certain…qualities that allowed Voldemort to spy on his servants. One of these was that, if he chose to, he could hear what we were saying.

"You know that I've always said that you took after your father and that you're a miscreant because of it, but in all honestly that is a lie. I said those things to keep my cover in case Voldemort happened to be listening at that moment. Your father and myself certainly weren't friends, as you no doubt remember from your little visit to my Pensieve, but I don't hold anything against him. I was as much to blame for our problems as he was.

"But anyways, the person who you more closely take after is your mother, Lily. Lily…Lily was a special person," Snape said, his voice becoming a bit distant. "She was probably my only true friend while I was here at Hogwarts, but that was also more my fault than anyone else's. I was a difficult person—my father had corrupted my views and it was hard for me, at the time, seeing purebloods, half-bloods, and Muggle-borns mixing so freely. I was distant and refused to associate with most people.

"Lily, however, was an angel of mercy, and sought me out. We quickly became friends and I wanted much more, but it was clear to me from the start that her heart was in another place—your father, of course. I never resented her or James for it, even though I have often said the opposite to keep my cover, but I do wish that I had been a different person then. Perhaps then things would have been different…" he trailed off.

Harry's voice was hoarse when he spoke up. "I never knew, Severus. What happened to make you turn to the Dark Lord in the first place?"

A pained look came over Snape's face, but he continued with his story. "Well, much from my own doing, I became more and more ostracized by the school. I secluded myself and studied the Dark Arts with books I'd brought from home, only coming up for air for classes, meals, and the occasional conversation with Lily. James, however, grew more and more jealous with every meeting that we had, and turned up with her one day.

"Him and I got into a huge fight, which led to us drawing wands and dueling each other. Lily was screaming at us to stop, but we were both blind; James was blind with jealousy and I was blind with rage. I ended up using one of the Dark curses that I had recently learned, which of course James had no idea how to counter. I realized with a growing horror what I'd done and reversed the curse, but the effect was instantaneous. James was so incredibly livid and frightened, even though he would never admit, that he sputtered incoherently for a few seconds and stormed off.

"Lily, however, looked at me with sad eyes." A single tear slipped from Snape's eyes, which Harry did not notice. His eyes were downcast and he was trying to hold back his own emotions. Hearing of his parent's so vividly always elicited a strong reaction from him.

"What did she do?" Harry asked, very quietly

"She started to quietly cry and told me that she could never look at me the same way again. She would always be my friend, but the dynamic had changed because of what I'd done. She looked absolutely miserable, which was exactly how I felt, and still do at times. Your mother was a cheery, fiery spirit, and she never let things get her down. To see her like that was to have a piece of your soul twisted in on itself until you couldn't stand it anymore.

"She turned away with some final words: 'I'm sorry, Severus, for everything. This is my fault.' I wanted to reach out and embrace her, to hold her close and tell her that it was my fault, that I was the one who had cursed James, to stroke her blazing red hair and beg for her forgiveness, but I couldn't do any of those things. I stood there, rooted to the ground, watching her leave my life forever.

"That night I went home and succumbed to my father's wishes, taking the Dark Mark and pledging my servitude. It is almost the greatest regret of my life, second only to letting Lily walk away that night." Tears were coursing down Snape's sallow face now, which would have given anyone else a heart attack had they seen it. When Harry looked up, however, he was not surprised in the least, because there were wet streaks on his own cheeks.

"You're a very lucky man, Harry," Snape said, violently wiping his face with the sleeve of his robes. Harry did not wipe his face. He didn't care about it enough to.

"What do you mean, Severus?"

"You have no idea what you have in Ginny Weasley. She is so much like your mother that I've had to catch myself from calling her Lily in class. She is feisty, approachable by almost anyone, and has that famous blazing red hair. The only difference is in the eyes, but I'm sure Lily would be proud of you, Harry."

Hearing this from the Professor he had always thought he hated hit a surprisingly strong chord in his soul. He burst into tears.

----------

Dumbledore was humming to himself as he strolled down toward the dungeons. His mind was anywhere but in Hogwarts—he was thinking about how delicious a Treacle Tart would be with some Whipped Whipping on the top of it. He salivated just thinking about it, and made a mental note to himself that he'd have to go to the kitchens later and sample that very dish.

Before he knew it, he was at the door of the Potions classroom. He had wondered why Severus wasn't at dinner, but presumed that he was busy with something. Curiosity got the best of him however, as it usually did, so he had made his way down here. He pushed open the door and stopped when the most unusual sight greeted his eyes.

Severus Snape and Harry Potter were sitting around the Professor's desk, empty plates in one corner, nursing what appeared to be a sizable bottle of rum. Both men had rather puffy eyes and had no doubt been crying. They were both so pissed they didn't notice the Headmaster's entrance. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled maddeningly.

"_Accio rum_," Dumbledore said, holding out his hand. The rum bottle flew to his hand, and both teacher and student looked to him, with something like drunken surprise on their faces.

"Oh! Just in time, Dumby! Come to join innnnthefunnnn?" Harry called out, looking slightly to the left of where Dumbledore was standing, and slurring his words magnificently.

"No, my boy, not tonight," he said, eyeing the liquor. "Ah, 1950…a fine year indeed!" he said, sending the alcohol back to the desk with a wave of his hand.

Severus spoke up. "Oi, Albie, wandless magickk, eh? That's a good show, old boy. I always liked those magicky tricks of yours." He giggled. Severus Snape _giggled_. That seemed to affect Harry, because he started giggling loudly as well, broken only by the occasional hiccup.

"Oh dear," Albus said to himself, "this is one for the record books. Severus Snape and Harry Potter got pissed and are now giggling at each other. I wish I had a diveo recorder, or whatever those Muggle things are. My Pensieve will do, I suppose." He smiled to himself. Then, to the two giggling men, he said, "Alright, I'll leave you two to your…ahem, I forgot what was funny. Have fun," he said and left. The giggling only increased in volume as he did so, and he could hear it all of the way down the hall.

Albus walked with a grin on his face. Things hadn't been so peaceful in a long time, and the only thing clouding his thoughts at the moment was how much Harry had changed. If what he just witnessed was any indication, though, perhaps all of that change wasn't a bad thing. _Things are certainly looking up in this world of ours, aren't they, Albus?_ His thoughts carried all of the way back to his office.

----------

Two guards carried a crumpled figure in a black cloak past the security station into the minimum-security section of Azkaban Prison. Past this hallway was where the real prison began, as these cells were only used for offenses deemed petty enough to escape the cruelty and brutality of the inner wards. The condition was if they ever Apparated they would be sent to the darkest recesses of the prison. One of the guards stopped before passing out of the section.

"Why can't we just leave him here?" he whined. He was having a terrible day and he just wanted to go home. He didn't feel like carrying this…_thing_…all of the way to the deepest dungeon in the prison. He would much rather dump it off somewhere up here where it was light, dry, and still a bit warm.

"I don't know, we were told to bring him into the dungeons, past the anti-Apparition and anti-Animagi wards."

The first guard sighed heavily. "What does his file say?"

"Umm…" the second guard said, shuffling some papers around in his hand. "Ah, here it is. Name…that's weird. It was censored." He shrugged. "Crime…actually, most of this has been censored. Interesting…well wait, here's something. Condition: catatonic, will never recover or be lucid again." He looked up in confusion at the first guard. "Then why the hell are we bringing him way down there?"

"I don't know, but that's what I was trying to say. Let's just dump him in one of these cells and change the order to read that. I'm sick of this place today and I need to get home."

The second guard looked thoughtful for a moment, but then decided that it wouldn't hurt if they did it.

"I guess so. He is in a permanent coma, after all. What could it hurt?"

The first guard sighed, adjusting the man he was carrying. "Thank god. Let's just get this over with. Here, take my pen, and change the order." He handed his pen to the second guard and watched as he scribbled over the order and then wrote some fake initials as authorization. He got his pen back and then looked around.

"Which cell should we dump this poor sap in?" he asked.

The second guard did a quick check of his documents, and noticed that there were very few empty cells. _What is the world coming to? So much crime and corruption…ugh_, he thought to himself, as shuffled passed his falsified order. He was either too stupid or too tired to notice the irony.

"Looks like we have to bring him back up the hall. The closest empty cell is, um, 008."

The first guard readjusted his load, and started toward the cell. The man he was carrying smelled faintly of…mold, yeah, that was it, and also something…reptilian. He smelled like dungeons and snakes. _Wonder where this bloke came from?_

The second guard fumbled with his keys and he was getting impatient. "Come on, hurry the hell up, just open the door."

"Alright, alright, calm down. Jesus. If I didn't know any better I'd think you had a hot date tonight."

The first guard winced. "Fuck you."

The obscenity was met with chuckles. "Whoa, easy there, fella. Just because _you_ screwed up your marriage, doesn't mean you can take it out on others."

"Yeah, yeah, just open the damn door."

The door creaked open and the second guard smirked. "See, nothing to get your knickers in a twist about. Just drop him in there and lets be off."

The first guard went and leaned the dark-robed figure against the wall on the bed, and hesitated, as if unsure how to leave him. The second guard said, "Just leave him; he's in a coma, he wouldn't know a bed from a brick." With a shrug, the first guard exited and watched as the second guard closed and locked the cell. They turned and left.

Inside the cell, the figure slowly slipped over onto his side, landing on the bed with a soft noise. The motion had thrown the hood off of his head, though. His legs were at an awkward angle, because his body had slipped, but that is not what a person would notice if they had come into the room. The first thing they would notice would surely be the cold, red slits that substituted for eyes and the pale skin, almost a dirty white. The red eyes glittered unseeingly in the dim light of the cell.

Somewhere in the world, as if called by an unseen force, a large and deathly beautiful snake started to make its way toward Azkaban Prison.


	8. Helen of Hogwarts, Part I

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: Hope you enjoy!**

----------

Chapter 8: Helen of Hogwarts, Part I

Harry pushed open the doors of the Great Hall and strode in to eat breakfast. Most of the students were already sitting and eating, as Harry had overslept on this Saturday morning. He was a little disappointed in himself, because he would have liked to get an earlier start to the day and have been at St. Mungo's already. Mentally shrugging, he sat down next to Ginny, across from Hermione and Ron. He gave the two across from him a small smile and turned to Ginny. He didn't notice the furtive glance that Hermione gave him as he turned his eyes away.

"Hey Gin," he said as filled his plate with some eggs and sausage. She gave him a warm smile and quick peck on the cheek.

"Good morning to you, Professor Potter," she replied, with a Dumbledore-esque twinkle in her eyes. Hermione looked up sharply and narrowed her eyes at Harry.

"_Professor_ Potter, Harry?" she intoned. Harry winced a bit when he noticed the infamous glare, but there was little he could do.

"Well, you see…" he began, but Ginny cut him off with a glare of her own.

"Harry James Potter! You haven't told them yet?"

Harry looked like a deer caught in headlights. He was stuck between Ginny's temper and Hermione's whipcrack intellect.

"Err…" he stammered. "Well, I only found out on Thursday night," he tried to explain.

"But you found the time and the need to tell Ginny between then and now?" For some inexplicable reason, at least to Harry, Hermione looked genuinely hurt. Ron looked like he hadn't a clue about what was going on, but Hermione was upset, and so he was a little annoyed.

"What? Did I miss something? What did Harry do now?" he asked Hermione.

Harry blanched. "What is this? Gang up on Harry time? He told me about it on Thursday night. Yesterday was a busy day, ok? Ginny sought me out—so I told her. I didn't see either of you yesterday. If I had I would have told you."

Hermione mumbled something under her breath, which was uncharacteristic of her. Harry didn't catch it. "What was that Hermione?" His voice was a little sharper than he intended.

"I said," she replied through gritted teeth, "that you haven't seen much of either of us in awhile now."

Harry just stared at her. He was trying to process the conversation that just took place, because it felt entirely irrational. Had he done something wrong? He couldn't think of anything, so he opened his mouth to ask her. Hermione, however, got up from the table, pulling Ron with her.

"Forget it, Harry. Enjoy your breakfast." Her and Ron gathered themselves and left, much to the bewilderment of Harry and the concern of Ginny.

"Um…what just happened?" Harry asked. There was a small amount of desperation in his voice. He was distractedly trying to work it out.

Ginny just shook her head. "I'm not sure, Harry, but I wouldn't worry about it for now. I'll talk to Hermione later and figure out what that was all about. I'm sorry, though…"

"What are you sorry for?"

"Well, my calling you 'Professor Potter' was what started the whole thing." Harry shook his head slowly at her as a sad smile graced his face.

"It's not your fault. They were obviously upset that I hadn't told them about it yet," he said, as he thought he understood what was going on. He would make sure he explained it to them later on.

"I don't know, Harry. It seemed like there was something more going on. I'll find out later."

Harry looked at her. "What do you mean—?"

"Ah, Mr. Potter. The Headmaster would like to see you in his office when you're done with your breakfast." Harry looked up at the familiar voice of the person who cut him off, and smiled into the stern face of Professor McGonagall.

Harry inclined his head. "Of course." She nodded in return and left the Great Hall. Ginny gave Harry a curious look. He returned it with a raised eyebrow and a bit of a smirk.

"Is there something you'd like to tell me, sweetheart?" she said in a sugary voice with a big, toothy smile. She patted his thigh, squeezing a little harder than was comfortable for him.

Harry grimaced and thought, _Can't I ever do anything right?_ He smiled back in return, giving her some emerald puppy-dog eyes, and said innocently, "Whatever could you mean?"

Ginny, however, didn't seem to be in the mood for his antics, and narrowed her eyes into Harry's. "Why have you been meeting with the Headmaster so frequently lately?"

"We did just beat Vold—"

"Exactly, Harry. _We_. If it were about what _we_ did last weekend, then surely he would have had all of us present. Now, are you going to tell me what's going on, or am I going to have to make you?"

Harry cocked an eyebrow. "Make me?" Ginny's hand slid up his thigh a bit, and she tightened her grip mercilessly. She cocked an eyebrow back at Harry.

He chuckled nervously and his face went a bit pink. "Ok, ok. I get the point. Just wait until the afternoon. I promise you'll understand then. Ok?" Her grip didn't loosen and her face remained unchanged.

Harry sighed. "Look, Ginny, it's nothing dire or stupid. Just trust me." He leaned over and kissed her on the lips, lingering for a few seconds to try to convince her that he was being sincere. Just as she decided to respond to the kiss, he broke it and stood up. "Well, off to Dumbledore," he said with a soft smirk. He turned and strode from the Hall, noticing the put out look on Ginny's face and the call of, "Prat!" at his back.

On the way to the Headmaster's office, his face went from a smile to a look of puzzlement, as he remembered the first part of the conversation with Hermione and Ron. He had to figure out what was going on…

He stopped in front of the Gargoyle, and just stood there. He couldn't remember what the password was. Try as he might, this week's particular candy just wouldn't come to him. He was about to give up, when the Gargoyle sprang aside and Dumbledore stepped out.

"Ah, Harry, I was just coming to see where you were."

He gave a wan smile and said, "Sorry, Albus. Couldn't remember the password."

"Not to worry, Harry. Not to worry." Instead of retreating into his office, however, Dumbledore started to walk in the opposite direction and motioned for Harry to follow him. The two men—one the icon of the Light for the past generations and the other for the present and future—walked in silence for a few moments. Just as Harry was going to ask what the purpose of this meeting was, Dumbledore spoke up.

"I assume that you still wish to bring Miss Davis to Hogwarts this weekend?" Harry nodded. "In that case, I have some news that I think should please you."

When Dumbledore didn't continue, Harry looked at him. He was staring straight ahead with a grin on his face. "Oh?" Harry prodded.

"I have spoken to the Ministry of Magic and St. Mungo's, and we have decided where she will be going. I refused to let them send her back to the Orphanage—don't worry, I didn't elaborate—and that left us with one option. She has no immediate family and her only extended family is a senile Muggle woman, in her eighties. That's quite old for non-magical folk."

"Albus," Harry interrupted, "where are you going with this?" He didn't like the way they had just decided where she was going. He somehow felt responsible for her.

The Headmaster's grin broadened, further confusing Harry. "Miss Davis has been made an official charge of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Harry stopped and sucked in his breath, looking at the back of Dumbledore, who stopped after a few steps and looked at him.

"Alright there, Harry?"

"What does that mean, exactly?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "The School is her guardian. The faculty and staff will watch over her. She can stay here year round, until she is of age of course."

"Wow…" Harry muttered. He was quickly contemplating the possible ramifications of this.

Dumbledore continued. "And as part of that staff come July, Harry, you will of course be her primary guardian here at the school. That is, assuming that you want that responsibility."

Harry only had to think about it for a second. "Of course I want it." Dumbledore smiled knowingly, and Harry said, "Where will she be staying?"

"There are far too many staff quarters for the amount of employees we actually have, so she will be given one of them. This includes two bedrooms, a living area, a kitchen and dining area, and bathroom. Now, there is something else I want to ask…"

Harry peered intently at Dumbledore as he trailed off, thinking he had an idea of what the man was implying. He gave a questioning look to his Headmaster.

"She is only six, Harry. While she may be intelligent, from what I've heard at least, she still needs guidance. I was wondering if you'd be willing to move out of your Gryffindor dormitory and into the suite with her as her primary guardian." Harry was right in his thinking, and nodded to Dumbledore.

"Now Harry, I want you to think about this for a moment. This isn't something to take lightly. This isn't the sort of responsibility that can be shirked," Dumbledore began, as he motioned for Harry to continue walking with him. "I would still expect you to perform as you have been in all of your classes and you should realize that some people may not readily understand what's going on."

"Sir—Albus—I really don't care what people think. You should realize that. They can assume what they want about it, but in the end all that matters is that this six-year-old doesn't have to go back to a place where she was sexually assaulted. She doesn't need daily reminders of something that will haunt her for the rest of her life."

"I thought you would say something like that, and I know your intentions are honorable. You are young, however, so just be careful and be mindful." The two stopped outside of McGonagall's office, and Dumbledore turned to face Harry. "You would certainly make James and Lily proud, Harry."

A shadow passed over Harry's face momentarily, but it was gone as quick as it had come. Dumbledore could only take that as Harry thinking about the things he'd done, so he placed a grandfatherly hand on the man's shoulder. "Harry, listen to me. You are changing—the world is changing—so don't dwell on the past. Look to the future and work on making it as best as you can."

Harry nodded and thanked the Headmaster. "I'm gonna floo to St. Mungo's now. I'll be back shortly…er, wait, where are these quarters? And what's the password?"

"Ah yes, that information definitely would help. The suite is located off the Gryffindor common room, across from Minerva's quarters. As for the password, you can decide that when you arrive there."

Harry gave a sincere look to his mentor and said, "Thank you, Albus. I appreciate it and you can only imagine how relieved she is going to be."

"No need to thank me, Harry. I should be thanking you. For a 17-year old, you are showing a remarkable sense of responsibility." Harry blushed a bit, still unused to any kind of praise, and tried to wave it off. Dumbledore wouldn't have any of it, however. "Don't downplay it, Harry. It's nothing to be embarrassed about. Now, get a move on before you make Miss Davis wait all day."

Harry thanked the Headmaster again and nodded, and he turned and walked into the office. He took some floo powder and went for the fireplace.

----------

As Harry entered the Pediatrics Ward of St. Mungo's, he noticed two things immediately. The first was that Helen was not in the lobby, which was most unusual. Every single time he'd come to visit her, she'd always been reading in the chair by the corner. The lobby was empty at the moment. The second was that the soft sounds of someone crying faintly reached his ears. A tiny bit alarmed, he set off through the lobby and down the hallway. Helen's room was at the end of the first stretch, and he quickened his pace when the crying got louder as he got closer.

With his heart racing, he stopped outside of Helen's door, and confirmed his own fear. The crying was coming from her room. He hastily drew his wand and shoved open the door, his mind replaying over and over what he'd seen the last time he walked in on her when she was in distress. What he saw eased his fears immediately; however, he did not quite comprehend the situation.

Helen was lying on her bed curled into a tight ball. The walls and shelves of the room, which she had personalized during her more than four months there, were bare, and her wardrobe appeared to be empty as well. A trunk was closed at the foot of her bed—probably where all of her stuff was. Harry didn't understand why she was so upset. He thought she would have been exceedingly happy to go to Hogwarts, and as a matter of fact, she had been ecstatic when he mentioned her visiting it once. Now, she was going to stay there. _Ok, what's going on here? Clearly there was a misunderstanding…_

Harry tucked his wand away and made his way to her bed. She was so wrapped up in her emotions that she hadn't noticed his sudden entrance, and still was not aware of his presence. He sat down on the bed, and she seemed to notice the compression of the mattress.

Helen looked up, sniffling, and wiped her eyes. When she noticed it was Harry, she flung herself into his surprised arms, and sobbed at an even higher volume. Harry held the girl in his arms, trying to soothe her shuddering. Slowly she quieted down, but there was a definite wet spot on his shoulder where her tears had soaked through. He didn't care.

"Helen, what's the matter?"

Helen look up into his face, her wet cheeks glistening in the light of the room, and gave Harry a look that he would never forget. It was filled with such a sorrow and desperation, the likes of which Harry wasn't sure he'd ever seen before.

"What's wrong?" he asked again, quietly.

"They…they said I couldn't stay here anymore…they're sending me back to the Orphanage!" she said, and promptly buried her face into his shoulder, letting out more tears.

Harry was shocked. _They didn't tell her where she was going? What the hell is wrong with these people? They had to know the circumstances around her arrival! How insensitive could they be?_ Harry forced down his anger, though, and concentrated on the young witch in his arms.

"Helen, calm down. Look at me, Helen." Her crying quieted, but she didn't look up. "Helen, please stop and look at me." He didn't want to force the issue, but he wanted this little problem to end quickly. She didn't need anymore trauma.

She raised her teary eyes again to his face. "Did they actually tell you where you were going?"

She thought for a moment, before shaking her head. She wiped her eyes with her wrist and said, "No, they just s-said I was leaving here…I don't have any other place to go." Her voice was throaty again at the end, and more tears were imminent.

Harry turned her around in his lap and sat her cross-legged so she was facing him. He laid his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. "Helen, you aren't going back to that place and you never will. You are going to come to Hogwarts to live."

It took her a moment to figure out what he was saying, but when she did, her eyes refocused on his like lightning. "What?" she asked a little breathlessly.

He smiled at her reaction. "Our Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, who is a very powerful wizard, decided that it would be best for you to come to the school. There wasn't really any other choice, because he definitely wouldn't consider sending you back to the Orphanage."

"So…who's going to take care of me?" she asked, regaining more and more of her composure with each passing second.

Harry gave her what any observer would call a fatherly smile, and said, "The school itself is your official guardian, but the staff will be taking care of you."

"But I don't know any of them," she said, nervousness evident in her voice.

"But you know me."

"What do you mean, Harry?"

"You'll be staying with me and I will be the person who will mostly look out for you, Helen."

She acquired a confused look. "But why, Harry? Don't you have classes and stuff?"

"Yes, Helen, but did you think that I would just abandon you? You didn't deserve what happened to you—no one did—so the least I can do is continue to give you my support and help."

Helen bit her lip, trying to hold back fresh tears, but it was to no avail. She wrapped her small arms around Harry and leaned into his chest in tight embrace. He patted her back and hugged her tightly for a moment. When she looked back up, there was admiration in her face.

"I love you, Harry."

It was a simple enough statement, but it had a profound effect on him. He marveled that the girl still had the capacity to love and trust after what had happened to her, and he was especially shocked that those emotions were reserved for him, of all people. He considered her something between a surrogate daughter and a baby sister, and had no intention of ever leaving her life completely. It just wasn't in the nature of Harry Potter to forget like that, and most people found that hard to understand. He would always be there for her, and he hoped that she eventually came to comprehend that.

Smiling, he said, "I love you, too. Now, enough of this mushy stuff, Miss Davis! There's a new home waiting for you, and I'm sure you're anxious to see it."

She nodded energetically and bounced from his lap into a standing position. The change was almost instantaneous—she went from a sad six-year-old to a truly excited one in fewer than five seconds. He laughed and stood up, levitating her trunk as he did so.

"Got everything?" She nodded, and he could tell it was taking all of her self-restraint to keep from running from the room and barreling out of the ward. "Alright then, my lady. Shall we?" That self-restraint snapped, and she raced out ahead of him. Harry followed her with a silly smile on his face, which increased when he saw her standing at the doors to the ward, confused.

"Uh…Harry? How are we going to get to your school?"

"Have you ever heard of something called Apparition, Helen?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment, and then nodded. "I read about it, but I didn't really understand it."

"Alright, well all you have to do is hold onto me, and I'll take care of the rest. It's kind of like…instant transportation." Helen looked intrigued, or as intrigued as a six-year-old could, and followed Harry from the ward. They arrived at the Apparition point shortly thereafter, and he instructed her to take his hand and grab a handle on her trunk with the other.

"This might feel a bit weird. Ready?" She nodded, looking the tiniest bit nervous, to which the corners of lips lifted into a light smile. He concentrated for a moment, and with a soft pop, the pair Disapparated from St. Mungo's.

----------

"Wow! That was awesome!" Helen and Harry had appeared just outside of the anti-Apparition wards for the castle. "When can I learn to do that?" she asked, out of breath.

Harry chuckled. "Sorry, Helen, but in the Wizarding World you have be to seventeen before you can learn to Apparate." She looked putout, but realized there wasn't much she could do about it. Then, with widening eyes, she noticed the castle for the first time.

"Is that your school?" Her voice was quiet with wonder and awe.

"Yep. Big, isn't it?" She nodded. "Alright, let's get moving." He relevitated the trunk, which had settled to the ground, and started toward Hogwarts Castle. Helen followed closely, but for some reason, Harry could tell her momentary silence was a pensive one. Sure enough, he was rewarded by a question from her.

"Harry?"

"Mm?" he intoned.

"Why couldn't we just Apparate into the school?"

Harry hung his head for a moment with a rueful grin. _What have I gotten myself into?_ "There are magical wards around the school that prevent people from Apparating into and Disapparating from the grounds. It's to protect the students from any unwanted visitors."

They walked in silence the rest of the way across the grounds. Helen was taking in all of the new surroundings, trying to appreciate the size of the structure before her. The tallest tower—the Astronomy tower—reached an impressive four hundred feet, or forty stories, above the grounds.

Without thinking, Harry waved a hand at the entrance doors, and they clanged open. Helen eyed this display of magic, but did not say anything. She was confused, because she had read that magic required the use of a wand.

"Alright, I'm going to bring you up the to room. Keep an eye out for where we are, so you can start to learn the layout of the castle as quickly as you can." She nodded and he set off, with her at his side. They passed a few students on the way who gave them rather curious looks, but they said nothing.

"Hogwarts' students are divided into four houses—Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. Each of the houses has a common room, which is connected to the dormitories. We'll be staying just off of the Gryffindor common room, which is my house."

"What's the difference between the houses?" she asked.

"Gryffindors are known for bravery, Ravenclaws are known for intelligence, Hufflepuffs are known for loyalty, and Slytherins are known for cunning."

There was a pause for a moment as they continued their trek through the corridors, but then Helen said, "I think you could have been in any of them."

Harry snorted and shook his head lightly, amused. "Most probably could, Helen, but we're sorted into each house based on which is the strongest one."

"Oh." They soon arrived at the portrait for the Gryffindor common room, and before Harry could give the password, the Lady spoke up.

"My, my, Mr. Potter. Who is this young lady?" She smiled kindly down at Helen, who was staring at the portrait with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

"It's my pleasure to introduce you to Helen Davis. She will be staying at the castle."

"And may I ask why?"

"Some other time," Harry said, waving it off. "Codswallop." The potion swung open, and Harry took hold of Helen's hand. "Alright, just follow me. I'm sure there will be some questions, but we can answer them later, ok?"

She could do little more than nod and follow him as he lead her through the portrait hole, as her mind was still trying to process all of the new things she had seen. They arrived in the common room, and immediately most of the heads snapped in their direction. Harry Potter would have been enough to make most people look up, but the fact that he was leading a small girl caused them to be even more curious than usual. Harry ignored most of them, but noticed that Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were looking at him with the most peculiar looks. He shrugged slightly at them, and led Helen to one side of the common room, where they stopped at another portrait. This one was of a stately man, who looked similar to Dumbledore.

"Ah, Miss Davis and Mr. Potter. How nice it is to meet you both. Professor Dumbledore mentioned that you would be arriving sometime today. What would you like the password to be?"

Harry looked at Helen. "Well?"

"Me?" He nodded. "Um…I dunno, Harry!" He just kept looking at her, but out of the corners of his eyes he noticed that a few people were slowly coming closer. He wanted to avoid questions at the moment.

"Just pick something, Helen. We can always change it later."

"Alright…um…Apparate!"

The old man in the painting chuckled and swung aside, and Harry followed Helen and her trunk inside. Before it swung closed again, he noticed his two friends and Ginny get up and start toward him. He turned around and started at what he saw. Helen was staring gape-mouthed at it also.

The quarters were extravagant, to say the least. The living area, which they were now standing in, had a large fireplace, two comfortable couches and two plush chairs, several bookshelves that were almost overloaded stood along a wall, and a large, circular window across from them that opened upon a magnificent view of the Quidditch pitch and the lake beyond. Harry moved to the far left corner of the room, and saw that the kitchen and dining area was no less comfortable. He looked across at the far right corner and saw the bathroom included the same level of amenity.

"Wow…" Helen breathed. Harry nodded in appreciation, because he was thinking the same thing. The closer corners to the entrance also had doors, and Harry assumed that these were their bedrooms. He went to one and Helen followed him. The door opened on an impressive suite. There was a king-size four-poster bed, a few smaller bookcases, a sizable desk, and a quaint fireplace. He noticed that there was some floo powder as well. He turned to Helen to say that she could have this room, because it was surely larger than the other, but she had wondered off to check the other room.

"Helen," he called, "you can have this one. I'll take the other."

"It doesn't matter," he heard as she called back from the other room. "They're both the same." _Wow,_ Harry thought, _this place is great! Two master suites._ He smiled and walked back into the living area, and noticed that Helen was grinning as well.

"Like it?" he asked.

"Of course! This place is amazing!" Her excitement was bubbling over, and he laughed. He was about to respond when there was knock at the portrait.

He hesitated for a second, and then called out, "Who is it?"

"It's us," he heard from someone that sounded like Ginny. He waved his hand, again unaware that his wand was still tucked away, and the portrait swung open. Helen was going to ask him about the wandless magic, but her attention was quickly averted to the three strangers who entered the room. They were all eyeing her curiously. She became nervous and edged closer to Harry, grabbing his hand for support. He looked down at her, and winked, signifying that it was all right. They were his friends.

"Hey, you guys, what's up?" Harry asked.

"What's going on, Harry?" Hermione was the first to ask. Her tone was still a little cool, presumably left over from what happened earlier in the Great Hall.

"Let me introduce Helen Davis to you. Helen, the tall redhead is Ron Weasley; the one who asked the question is Hermione Granger; the last one—the one who looks like she's going hurt me—is Ginny Weasley. They've been my friends…and a lot more…since we started at Hogwarts."

Helen nodded and smiled at his friends. "Nice to meet you all." She was usually shy around others, and was a bit uncomfortable at the moment. Noticing this, Harry levitated her trunk into the room to the right of an entering person, and knelt down. He didn't observe the stare that Hermione was giving him, being the only person in the room that noticed his latest bout of wandless magic.

Speaking so only she could hear, he said, "Why don't you go and set up your room? I'll be in there in a little bit to help. I need to explain some things to my friends. Ok?"

She nodded and flashed another small smile toward the three at the portrait and followed her trunk into her room. Once her door was closed, Ginny rounded on Harry, piercing him with her glare.

"Just what the hell is going on, Harry?" He could tell she was jumping to all of the wrong conclusions—after all, the girl was only 11 years younger than Harry—so he placed his hands on her shoulders.

Switching his glance between her reddening face and over her shoulder at Ron and Hermione, he said, "Look, I know I have some explaining to do. Don't jump to any conclusions, though, and I'm warning you know that if any of you _ever_ disrespect her…" With the threat hanging in the air, he motioned the three of them to the couches, where they sat heavily and stared at Harry. Before Harry sat down, he went to a shelf and took a Pensieve down that he'd noticed upon his initial inspection of the room.

He placed it on the table between the couches and sat down next to Ginny. They were facing Ron and Hermione. He sighed, unsure if he really wanted to show them what he was about to, and afraid of what their reaction might be. They deserved an explanation, though.

"I suppose it's best to start at the beginning," he said as he took out his wand finally and placed a silencing charm on Helen's door. He ignored Hermione's questioning look; Helen didn't need to hear the memories. "You guys remember that we were at the Burrow for Christmas this year?" They nodded. "Well, one of the nights I was there I had a disturbing dream and my scar was burning. I decided that it was just too weird to leave alone, so I went to check it out." Noticing their really confused looks now, he thought it would just be better to show them.

As he pulled the memory from his temple, he stated, "Look, what you're going to see isn't pleasant. It's something that you'll likely never forget. Are you sure you want to see it?"

"I would just like an explanation, and if whatever this is will provide that, then by all means, start it," huffed Hermione. Ginny nodded, agreeing with her. Ron inclined his head, meaning that he also agreed with them. "Alright…" He reluctantly placed the memory into the Pensieve and swirled the silver liquid. He averted his eyes as the memory started to play, looking at anything but what was happening.

His eyes passed over the faces of his three friends, noticing as their curiosity turned into confusion and then disgust. Hermione and Ginny were openly crying by the time the memory ended, and Ron looked like he was going to be sick. When Helen started to sob into Harry's chest, causing him to tear up in the memory, Ginny buried her head in the present-day Harry's shoulder and sobbed into it. Hermione did the same to Ron, who did little to comfort her. He was still staring at the place the memory had faded from.

"Why didn't you tell anyone about this, Harry?" Ron's voice was very quiet.

Harry sighed again, holding onto Ginny as her sobs slowly quieted down. "I couldn't. I was trying to deal with it myself. I'll never be able to forget what I saw, but I've come to terms with it."

"How?" Hermione choked out.

"Albus and I talked for awhile about it, and he helped me understand it a little bit. I'd suggest that you do the same sometime…" he trailed off.

There was an uneasy silence for a few moments. Finally, Ginny looked up, wiping her eyes as she did so. "Alright, I understand how you know Helen now. Why is she here, though?"

Harry gave her a funny look. "She has no family, immediate or extended. They're all dead, except for one, who is crazy. She certainly couldn't go back to that Orphanage…" he trailed off again, as he saw the scrutinizing look Hermione was giving him. "Yes, Hermione?"

"Who is her guardian?" Ginny started and looked quickly at Harry, realizing what Hermione was implying with her question. Ron's gaze finally refocused and zeroed in on Harry.

"The school is her guardian, Hermione. The staff has taken the responsibility."

Hermione looked miffed. "Why would they do that, though? That's never been done before."

Harry let out a growl of frustration. "Why is it so hard for you to understand? After seeing that, I'd have thought it would be clear to you guys why she's staying here."

Hermione tried a different approach. "Who is going to be staying here with her? She can't be more than seven…surely someone will be watching her."

_Might as well just tell them_, he thought to himself. Steeling himself against the expected explosion, he said, "She's six, and I will be."

The words hung in the air for a moment, but the quiet was broken by Ginny slowly letting out her breath. He looked at her and saw a perplexed face, so he decided to elaborate. "Look, I know this is sudden, but believe me, I wouldn't be doing any of this if there wasn't a good reason for it."

Ron spoke up next. "Harry…I'm not questioning your intentions—all of us here know that you have the best of them all the time—but this seems like a giant leap. You're seventeen…and you're still in school…isn't this a rather large responsibility?"

Ron's thoughtfulness surprised Harry, but he didn't mention it. "It is, and I'm prepared to do my best." They didn't look convinced.

"What the hell do I have to do to prove to you that this isn't some joke!" he exclaimed in exasperation. When silence met him again, he decided that he had to show them the second memory. He pulled another silver string from his temple and placed it in the Pensieve, swirling the liquid again.

"This isn't going to be easy to watch, either, and I'm reluctant to show it you because I think it could change your opinion of me, but Helen's worth it." The three of them watched as the images played out. There faces turned into more and more horrifying grimaces each minute as they watched Harry annihilate the Death Eaters that had invaded the Pediatrics Ward at St. Mungo's. Harry wasn't watching, but he cringed from the sound of exploding flesh.

As the memory ended, Hermione stood up abruptly and rushed for the suite's bathroom. There was a loud retching noise, and a few moments later she exited, wiping her mouth. Ron and Ginny didn't look much better.

"Harry…" Ron began.

Harry cut him off. "I'm not going to justify my actions. If you want to know why I'm not, talk to Dumbledore. He can explain it better than I can."

Ginny took a trembling breath for a second, and then said "You don't have to justify yourself to me, Harry. They were killing kids. I would have tried to do the same thing. This is just going to take a little getting used to, alright?" Harry smiled at her in response.

"Harry, I'm sorry—"

He cut Hermione off with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry about it. I'll meet you guys for lunch, ok?" They all nodded, and got up to leave.

Ginny hugged him tightly and whispered in his ear, "She's a lucky girl. And so am I." Her warm breath set the skin on the side of his face and neck on fire, and the light kiss she gave him right after did nothing to alleviate his passion. However, she turned and left, following Ron and Hermione out of the room. He watched the portrait close after they had exited, silently imploring them to understand what he was doing.

Harry then went into his room and took some floo powder into his hands. Throwing it into the fire, he called out, "Dumbledore!" and stuck his head into the green flames.

----------

Dumbledore was looking over some papers from the Board of Governors when his fireplace flared and Harry's head wavered into focus.

He looked over at the fire and smiled. "What can I do for you, Harry?"

"Two things, actually. How is Draco's condition?"

"I'm afraid that there is no improvement; on the contrary, he is steadily losing his grip."

"Is there nothing we can do?"

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid not, Harry. We can only try to make him as comfortable as possible and hope that he is not in too much pain."

Harry didn't speak for a moment. He was considering what he'd just learned about Draco. Nothing could be done for the blond Slytherin, and he was slowly dying. He sighed.

"I was also wondering if you could make some sort of general announcement about Helen at lunch today? I really don't feel like explaining everything two hundred times today."

"Of course, Harry."

"Thank you, Albus. We'll be down to eat shortly."

"I trust the quarters suit you both?"

Harry grinned. "They certainly do!"

"All right Harry, I'll see you soon," Dumbledore chuckled. The flames flared back to their original color, and Harry's head disappeared.

----------

Harry walked out of his room, dispelling the silencing charm on Helen's room as he went, and knocked. He heard a, "Come in!" and pushed open the door. Harry had to smile to himself when he saw her; Helen was curled up in the armchair in the corner of the room, reading a rather thick book. The posture was just so…_Hermione_. Yet, when she saw him, her face lit up like…_Ginny_. His head reeled at the paradox, so he decided to ignore it.

"Whatcha reading?"

She looked at the cover of the book and shrugged up at him. "It's called _Advanced Transfiguration: People as Objects_. It was on the shelf and it looked interesting!"

She looked up and noticed that Harry was staring at her with wide eyes. She got a little self-conscious. "What?"

"Nothing, Helen…it's just that, Hermione is going to love you." He smirked at her and raised an eyebrow at the tongue she stuck out at him. "Watch it, little lady!"

She giggled and asked, "Why would your friend love me because I'm reading a book?"

Harry put a hand to his forehead and groaned in comic frustration. "You'll find out, believe me." He sat down on the arm of the chair. "You hungry?" She nodded, closing the book and tucking it between the cushion and the arm next to her. Harry stood up and started walking for the door.

"So am I Helen Potter now?"

Harry froze. _What? Helen Potter? Uh…_ He slowly turned around to the face the little girl. She was standing by the chair, looking a little sheepish.

"What do you mean, Helen?"

She looked like she was unsure on how to respond. "Well…you said you were my guardian right?"

Harry walked back over to her and sat in the chair, setting Helen in his lap. "The school is your guardian, Helen. I'm responsible for you, but I'm not your official guardian." He was smoothing her soft brown hair against her head.

She pouted and her lip trembled. "Oh…"

"What's the matter?" He rested his chin on the top of her head as she snuggled into his chest.

"I didn't know my mum and dad. I don't even remember them," she started, as tears began to fall from her eyes. Bravely, she continued on. "The first thing I can remember is the Orphanage. They told me my parents died in a magical accident."

Harry listened to her, thinking about how similar their pasts seemed to be. Her parents were killed when she was an infant by a Dark Lord and she was misinformed about that; she was placed, without having a say in where she was going, in an Orphanage; finally, she had then been…well, Harry didn't want to think about that.

"The people at the Orphanage were nice and all, but I was really lonely there, Harry. St. Mungo's was really the same. The nurses were nice, but I was lonely." She struggled with her words again. She was already speaking well ahead of her six years, and it seemed that she was trying to sound even older. He knew she didn't realize it, though—she had been forced to grow up too fast.

Harry wrapped his arms around her small frame as she continued. "Sometimes I wish I could call you Daddy, or something, and I thought that… because you were taking care of me… I was a part of your family." She let out a deep, wracking sob and shuddered into his arms.

It took all of Harry's control to not sob along with her. That was the most wonderful thing that he'd ever heard. Deep down, though, there was also some anger simmering. _How could those bastards hurt someone so innocent? This girl has been through too much_.

He broke away from the embrace a little and turned her face up toward his. The tears were freely flowing down her cheeks, each one driving a stake a through Harry's heart. "Is that what you want, Helen? I'd have to adopt you." There was a small flicker of something Harry recognized in her eyes—love, longing, hope—and he melted into it.

"Y-you'd do that?" Harry nodded, and she buried her head into his robes again. There was a small noise from across the room and Harry looked up. Ginny was standing in the doorway, tears streaming down her own cheeks, gazing at Harry and Helen with a look similar to the one he'd just seen in Helen's eyes. She smiled at Harry, her look telling him all that he needed to know, and she softly exited the suite. Helen had no idea someone had been there.

Harry stood, securing Helen in his arms. He had to do something, or he might break down. She peered up from his robes at him with a wet, questioning look.

"You still hungry? Because I'm famished!" Wiping her tears with the back of her hand, she nodded and gave Harry a small smile. He wiped his thumb across her cheek, clearing away the rest of the wetness. "Alright then, let's get a spot of lunch."

----------

The doors to the Great Hall clanked open and all conversation ceased as people watched Harry and the mysterious girl enter the hall. She was riding on his shoulders, laughing because she was so high off the ground. Her hair shimmered and her eyes sparkled as the smile lit up her face, and Harry was grinning below her. They both ignored the silence of the Hall and made there way to the Gryffindor table. As Harry sat down next Ginny, with Helen on his lap, conversation slowly started up again.

Everyone was wondering who exactly this girl was, and why she seemed so attached to Harry Potter. He was an only child, as far as everyone knew, so she couldn't be his little sister. His only cousin, from what they'd heard, was a fat Muggle about Harry's age. And surely the girl, who looked to be six or seven, was way too old to be his daughter. There were a lot of confused people sitting in the Great Hall at that moment.

Dumbledore sensed the tension in the air, and some glances at his staff confirmed that everyone was mightily befuddled. He knew they were all thinking the same thing: _Who is that girl?_ He decided that now was as a good a time as ever, and stood from his seat. As he approached the small podium, the Great Hall hushed quickly. The Headmaster always had interesting things to say.

"How is the meal?" he asked of them. There were some murmurs in response, but they were all thinking that the question couldn't possibly be why he'd stood up to address them all.

"Undoubtedly, you all are wondering who Harry has with him today." Most nodded, stealing quick glances at Harry and the girl, whom were both listening to Dumbledore attentively. "I would like to introduce you to Helen Davis." He extended his arm in her direction. "Due to circumstances beyond her control, she is now an official charge of Hogwarts. Harry has graciously volunteered to look after her, so don't be surprised if you see her accompanying him to his classes and other activities.

"Don't question it, either. I expect each and every one of you to extend the same courtesy you would toward your peers. That brings me to another point. Remus will be taking a position at the Ministry next year, which leaves the Defense Against the Dark Arts position open. Harry has accepted that position. Enjoy the rest of your lunch." He sat back down at the Head table and was immediately bombarded by questions from the Professors.

With a pained smile in his eyes, he held up his hand to quiet them. "Eight o'clock, my office. I have a memory or two to show you all that will explain this much better." They nodded in temporary acceptance and went back to their meals. Dumbledore, however, briefly continued to look at Harry and Helen.

The thing that most of the people who attended the school didn't realize was that the school itself seemed to have a mind and a voice, and it occasionally whispered to the current Headmaster. Right now, it was telling him that a huge magical presence had just arrived at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft of Wizardry. None of the wards had been breached, so he was safe in assuming that a certain six-year-old was causing it.

----------

Harry, Helen, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were all sitting in the living area of Harry's new quarters. He had moved his stuff from the dormitory earlier in the day, and now the five of them were relaxing with some delicious cups of cocoa that, surprisingly, Helen had made for them. Twilight had descended outside and it was rather cool for a late April night, so a small fire was blazing away in the fireplace.

Harry and Helen had done their best to answer the questions that inevitably came throughout the day. He took several hours to show her around the castle after lunch, and every few minutes someone would come up and inquire about the circumstances around her becoming a ward of Hogwarts. Harry would answer them as best as he could, with Helen adding her own thoughts here and there, but they both mostly avoided the real reason behind them knowing each other. There were also some questions about Harry becoming a Professor, but most were more interested in Helen.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had joined them halfway through Harry's tour, and had quickly warmed up to the bubbly youth. Hermione was delighted when Harry told her about what he'd found Helen reading earlier, and smirked at him when Harry cringed away from the fire in her eyes. Ron had always secretly wanted a much younger sibling, so he and Helen hit it off once they'd gotten over the fact they didn't really know each other. Ginny was still in awe of what she'd seen happen between Harry and Helen earlier, and her private thoughts kept returning to the image of Harry comforting her like she was his daughter.

She was thinking of this at the moment, and a low blush crept onto her freckled cheeks when she imagined herself standing by his side, comforting their own daughter someday. She looked up and refocused on what people were saying around her, and noticed that Harry was looking at her. He raised his eyebrows at her obvious blush, thinking that it had to do with what she'd seen earlier. He wasn't embarrassed at all, though, because for him, comforting Helen came naturally. She smiled prettily and focused on what Hermione was saying.

"…need any books, I have a lot. Just ask me anytime, and I'd be happy to lend them to you." She was speaking to Helen, who was sipping her cocoa. She was sitting between Ron and Harry, who were sitting across from Hermione and Ginny.

Helen's face lit up with a bright smile, and she said, "Thanks, Hermione!" Harry chuckled at this, causing all three females to eye him. Ron was too engrossed in his cocoa to notice much at the moment.

"Er…why are you all staring at me?"

"Why'd you laugh, Harry?" Hermione asked. Privately, she was still a bit upset with Harry, and she knew that Ron was also, but she was reserving that conversation for another time.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just…you've created a monster!" he said as gave a horrified glare at Helen. Expressing her favorite way to snub Harry, she stuck her tongue out at him. Feeling rather foolish, but doing it anyway, he stuck his tongue out back at her. She giggled and almost spilled her cocoa all over her lap.

Harry heard a growl that sounded suspiciously like Ginny, and he looked up. She was glaring at him. "Is that any kind of example for her, Potter?" She was really amused by the whole thing, but she enjoyed keeping Harry on his toes. To her surprise, however, he just stuck his tongue out at her. That did it for Helen, and she snorted some cocoa out her nose. Harry burst into laughter when he saw this, and Hermione and Ginny soon followed. Ron looked up from his cocoa with a vague expression on his face, and saw that everyone was laughing, and Helen had what looked like cocoa dripping from her face.

She punched Harry on the arm with a small fist, and pouted at him. "Look what you made me do!" She then yawned widely, which quieted Harry immediately.

"You tired, Helen?" She shook her head, but yawned again. Harry chuckled and pulled out his wand, banishing their two cups into the kitchen. "I think it's time for someone to go to bed!"

"But Harry! I want to stay up and talk!" It was to no avail though, as Harry picked her up and secured in his arms.

"We've got a busy day tomorrow, Helen. Today hasn't exactly been a lazy day, either. You need to get some sleep." She pouted, but acquiesced when she yawned again. Starting toward her bedroom, he looked over his shoulder and said, "I'll be back in a few minutes, guys." He didn't notice the wistful look Ginny was giving him or the calculating one Hermione was sending his way.

Once they were in her room, he set her down. "Alright, I'm gonna turn my back. Get into your pajamas." He turned around and heard her rummaging through her trunk. A moment passed before she signaled she was done. He turned back around and noticed her woefully patched nightwear. He made a mental note about taking a trip to Diagon Alley with her, possibly sometime the next day.

He pulled back the covers on her massive bed and watched as she slipped in. She pulled the blankets up to her chin and looked to Harry as he laid down next to her for a moment.

"So, how do you like it here?"

"Everyone's so nice! This place is so huge! I really like—" yawn "—your friends. They seem to be really nice too. I like Ginny especially because—" yawn "—she's really nice and I can tell about you and her."

Harry made a small snorting noise and smiled warily at her. "Oh? You can tell what about us?"

She giggled. "Oh, you know, _grown-up_ things," she said, rolling her eyes and yawning again.

"You're silly; do you know that?"

"Mm hmm," she intoned, obviously losing her battle with sleep. Harry leaned over, smoothing her hair away from her forehead, and lightly kissed it. She appeared to be asleep when he raised himself back up.

"Goodnight, Helen," he whispered.

"Night, Harry," she mumbled, burying herself in the blankets. "Love you…" Her voice trailed off as sleep took her.

"Love you, too," he whispered, and carefully got off of the bed. When he turned back to the door, he was unsurprised to see Ginny standing there, watching him. He quietly made his way to her and embraced her. She leaned into it, lifting her head after a moment and motioning him into the living area. Harry closed the door with a soft _click_ and followed her to one of the couches.

"Where'd Ron and Hermione go?" he asked her.

"Where else? She dragged him off to the library to study for NEWTS." Harry smiled knowingly at this; he was momentarily glad he didn't have Hermione looking after him. He wrapped his arms around her slim frame and pulled her close to him. She warmed up to his embrace and fell into it. She sighed contentedly. For just a moment, they both seemed much older than they really were. Ginny had just watched the man she loved tuck a young girl into bed, and Harry was cuddling with the women he loved, content to just sit with her and hold her.

After a time, though, she looked at him. "About what she asked…what do you think about it?"

He glanced at her. Her face was a little flushed and she looked exceedingly beautiful in the firelight. Her red hair danced with a million hues of crimson and orange and her brown eyes were warm with love. He forced his thoughts away from this to answering her question.

"I was going to talk to Albus about it, once I put her to bed."

Ginny made a small noise and her lips quirked into a contented smile. "You know, that sounds just right, coming from you, Harry. 'Once I put her to bed.'"

She didn't really expect much of an answer, but she got one. "Yeah, it really does," he sighed. She looked into his eyes, which were staring unfocused into the fire. "There's just something about her that makes me want to protect her. She's a very special person."

"I'm beginning to share your feelings, after what you showed us earlier." She shuddered briefly, recalling those horrid images. "I know what you must have thought—'I'm a monster for what I've done'—but you're the exact opposite of those men, Harry."

She was hitting on exactly what Harry's problem was, and that was why they fit so well together. She was intuitive about Harry's emotional issues, and he was responsive to her questions whereas with any other person, he'd just clam up.

She placed a hand over his softly beating heart. "What you have in here is something that few people have; even fewer give it selflessly away like you do. Like I said earlier, she is a lucky girl, and so am I." She raised her lips to his and ignited the passion that had been simmering between them since the day before at the lake.

Ginny's searing lips lit trails of fire across his, and she parted them and danced across his with her tongue. He met her with an equal intensity, and kissed like they never had before. It wasn't wet or deep—it was gentle and caring yet passionate. After a few moments, Ginny broke the kiss for air, and laughed softly at Harry's dazed expression.

It cleared and he grinned at her. He hugged her tightly for a moment and gently unwrapped himself from her arms. She gave him a questioning look.

"I'm gonna go have that chat with Albus now. You can stay here if you want. I'll be gone for a little while." She nodded and reached for her homework. As she spread it out on the low table, Harry went to the fireplace in his room. He threw some floo powder in and called out, "Headmaster's office!" Stepping into the green flames, there was a familiar rushing feeling, and he was soon sprawling across the Headmaster's floor.

He heard chuckling and looked up, grinning. "You know, someday I will do that right." He stood and brushed himself off, and made his way toward a chair across from Dumbledore. He was hovering over some papers, but there was a smile on his face, left over from watching Harry's graceful entrance.

"To what do I owe this honor?"

"Albus! Was that sarcasm?" Harry was shocked.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, my boy." His eyes, however, betrayed his position.

"Mmmm…anyways, there is something I wanted to talk to you about."

Dumbledore nodded. "I figured as much." He fought back a grin at Harry's mock glare.

"It's about Helen."

"Oh?"

"Yes, well…you see, she said some interesting things today. She totally caught me off guard when she asked if her name was Helen Potter now." Harry let this sink in, and had to bite back his own grin at Dumbledore's brief loss of his ability to cover any emotion with calm words.

"I see…and what else did she have to say?"

"She thought that I was her guardian, but I explained to her that she was a ward of the school and that officially all of the Professors were her guardians. She, uh, wasn't keen on the idea for personal reasons, and said that she considered me family."

Dumbledore's features had softened even more, and he cleared his throat before speaking again. "What did you tell her?"

Harry looked sheepish for a moment. "I offered to adopt her. And before you tell me all the reasons that it's not a good idea, believe me, I've thought about all of them. Honestly, I don't care. If this is at all possible, I'd be willing to do it."

Dumbledore considered Harry for a moment before speaking. "I don't really have a problem with it—all of the staff as well as myself can see that you would be excellent for the job. However—oh, that reminds me. I showed the Professors what you showed me the other night."

Noticing Harry's cringe, he continued. "They all—_every single one of them_—side with you, Harry. I still have a small amount of reservation, but what you've shown me with Helen today has gone a long way in alleviating that. You _must_ keep your temper and your powers in check when around her, though."

"I know that, Albus. I have no intention of ever getting angry with her."

Dumbledore smiled at the boy's naiveté. "If you are sure that you want to do this, you have to promise me to keep that temper of yours leashed, at least until you can learn to control your powers. Alright?"

"I give you my word." And Harry meant it. He would protect Helen from everything, and that included his own unpredictability.

"I'll contact the Ministry tomorrow and see about starting the process. You are sure that you want to adopt Miss Davis?" Without hesitation, Harry nodded. Dumbledore smiled at him. "James and Lily would definitely be proud."

"Thank you, Albus."

"It's nothing, Harry. You are turning into an extraordinary young man. Everybody has a few demons, though; so don't worry about it too much. Just remember what I said."

Harry acknowledged his words and said, "Goodnight, Albus." He heard the Headmaster return the sentiment as he walked to the fireplace and flooed back to his new quarters. He had a rare smooth landing and brushed the soot off of him once again. He walked out of his room into the living area and promptly stopped.

The sight that greeted his eyes caused a warm feeling of contentment to spread through him. Ginny was in the chair facing the fireplace, resting against the arm. The firelight danced patterns across her features, sparkling along her eyelids, highlighting her freckles, and illuminating her hair. Her breathing was even and her face was the image of serenity. But, it was who was in her arms that made the whole picture so…_good_. Ginny's arms were wrapped around the small form of Helen, who was curled up in her lap. Helen's arms were encircled lightly around Ginny's waist, and she was breathing even and her eyes were closed. They were both asleep.

The warm feeling quickly turned into love—a duality—fatherly love for Helen and a romantic love for Ginny. His magic flared up and outward, and he felt a familiar moment of nothingness. When he was aware again, he was surrounded by the soft green glow of his emerald aura. An unseen breeze lapped through his hair and his robes, and his eyes smoldered as he watched the two sleeping forms. The breeze whispered against Ginny and Helen as well, and Ginny opened her eyes slowly. It took her a second to figure what the green light was, but when she did, she smiled as she felt the familiar sensation of Harry's love wash over her.

Helen stirred in her arms, and Ginny connected the dots and realized why Harry had let his magic out like he did. Helen sleepily opened her eyes and tensed when she saw the green glow, but relaxed as soon as she saw who was at the center of it.

"Why do you look like that, Harry?" Her voice was laden with sleep.

"Because I'm looking at my two favorite ladies." His voice was quiet, but it was pulsing with a tangible power. Helen shivered as she felt his emotions wash up against her. She didn't find them unpleasant, but they were rather intense for her.

"Oh…" she breathed and drifted off to sleep again. The breeze that had been filtering through the room died slowly, and the emerald light faded as Harry leashed his magic back within himself. He padded over to Ginny, who stood up and handed Helen to him. They quietly made their way into Helen's room and he laid her back in her bed. He tucked the covers around her sleeping form, and crept from the room with Ginny.

"What happened?"

"She came out complaining of a nightmare. I tried to comfort her and I guess we both fell asleep."

"Oh," said Harry as his face fell. "Did she wonder why I wasn't there?"

Ginny's ruby lips raised a little at the corners. Harry was precious. "Relax, Harry. That was the first thing she asked: 'Where's Harry?' I told her you were asking about the adoption, and she was as excited as her tired state would allow. It was cute." Harry nodded gratefully and pulled her into a quick squeeze, kissing her softly on the forehead as he did so.

"How did that go, by the way?" she asked.

"Albus said he'd contact the Ministry tomorrow and get the process started."

"That's good."

Harry nodded, and then yawned. "I guess I should take my own advice. I think I'll go to bed. Sleep sounds very enticing."

He broke the embrace with a quick kiss and started toward his bedroom. Ginny bit her lip, debating with herself whether or not she had the nerve to ask him. _Ginevra Weasley! When have you ever been a coward? Just ask him, damn you!_ Steeling her nerve with the encouragement from her thoughts, she called out to Harry.

"Harry?"

He turned with a quizzical look. "Mm?"

"Well…I was wondering…um, since you have your own room now…do you think I could, um, join you?" Harry paled first, and then blushed a deep crimson. Ginny would have laughed at the look on his face if she had had any sort of presence of mind at that moment.

"G-Ginny, I dunno if that's, um, a great idea…" he said, blushing an even darker red.

She laughed nervously. "No Harry…that's not what I meant. Just to sleep…you know…"

Harry ran a nervous hand through his hair. His palms were suddenly perspiring profusely. "Well, I suppose…" he faded away. His mind wasn't really helping him out, as it had gone completely blank. _Great_, he thought_, why am I such a prat! I jumped to the wrong conclusion…argh!_ Harry finally just nodded at her, and she half-smiled at him and said she'd be right back. She left the suite.

He went into this room and donned his pajama bottoms. He was suddenly faced with a dilemma. He usually wore only the pants to bed, but Ginny's presence could cause some problems. He was still standing in the middle of his room, shirtless and looking pensive, when Ginny came padding back in. She noticed his vacant posture, and decided to quickly change behind him. Halfway through, though, Harry noticed a rustling behind him, and turned.

If it was possible for his face to get any redder than before, it did. His eyes widened for a second, and he immediately turned on his heel and headed for the bed. _No…Potter, no! Stop thinking about that. Put that image out of your mind right now! She didn't notice…she didn't see you turn around._ Harry had turned around to see Ginny topless with only a fairly revealing pair of knickers on, trying to get her nightshirt over her head.

In his sudden embarrassment, he'd forgotten all about his earlier problem, only to be reminded when Ginny said, "Sleeping without a shirt?"

Harry jumped like he'd been shocked, and then realized he'd never decided if he was going to wear his shirt or not. Ginny must have noticed his quandary, and decided for him. "It's alright. You don't have to change your sleeping habits just because I'm here."

Harry exhaled deeply; he was trying to calm his frazzled his nerves. _Why is everything always a disaster with me?_ He commiserated with himself for a moment, and then decided to just throw back the covers and take the plunge. He slid into the large bed and Ginny walked around to the other side, doing the same. The bed was very warm against the cool air in the room and the blankets were comfortable. Harry snuggled into the sheets, turning on his side subconsciously to face Ginny. She had also turned on her side, facing him.

They smiled at each other, looking nervous for a moment, before Ginny slowly moved over to Harry. Harry was about to pass out with uncertainty, but Ginny just turned over on her other side and wrapped Harry's arm over her. She burrowed her back against his warm chest and was soon drifting off to sleep.

Harry listened to her for a while, noting that her breathing had been steady and slow for some time. Her hair was reflecting what little light there was in the room and shimmered softly. Harry smiled and appreciated her warmth, tightening his arm around her as he drifted off to sleep. The smile remained on his face through the night.


	9. Helen of Hogwarts, Part II

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: Well, here's Part II. Hope you enjoy!**

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Chapter 9: Helen of Hogwarts, Part II

The time between sleep and wakefulness was a strange one. Harry knew that he was waking up, but he couldn't fathom who or where he was. He knew that he was a wizard, of course, but if someone had whispered 'Hogwarts' in his ear at that moment it wouldn't have meant anything. His brain struggled against the sleep pulling it back down for a moment, and finally won over the urge to just drop back into blissful unconsciousness. As the fog cleared, things fell into place and 'Harry Potter' clicked back into existence, rather than the sleep-infested being that had just been in his place. He slowly opened his eyes, seeing that there was a meek light filtering through the high window in the room. He could tell that it was still quite early, and he wondered what had woken him.

His eyes focused on the other form in the bed, and he smiled to himself when he realized who it was. He was surprised that a blush didn't warm his cheeks, but somehow staring at Ginny while she slept didn't embarrass him. She had moved a little toward her side during the night, and was sprawled out across her half of the monstrous bed. She was lying on her back, and her amazing hair was fanned out beneath her head. Her arms were outstretched in random positions, and Harry's smile grew as he watched the even breathing of the slender form.

There was a rustling noise, and Harry wrinkled his forehead. Something had woken him…could it have been whatever that was? There—he heard it again. He lifted his head from the pillow and started to search the room with his eyes, but stopped as his smile widened into a light grin when he saw what the noise was.

Helen was standing in the doorway of their bedroom—_whoa, 'our' bedroom? Did I really just think that about Ginny and myself? That came out of nowhere—_and she was clutching what he knew to be a Muggle teddy bear to her chest. She noticed that he was awake, and looked up sheepishly at him. When he cocked his head in a question at her, she took that as an invitation to move past the door. She crossed the small space between to the bed and gingerly climbed up onto the mattress, eyeing the still sleeping Ginny mindfully.

She was extra careful to avoid making any noise as she crawled up the bed and snuggled into the space between Harry and Ginny. She laid on her side and faced Harry.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked

"Nothing." It was a simple enough statement, but Harry raised an eyebrow anyways.

"You sure about that?" She just nodded. There was a silence for a moment, broken only by a barely audible sigh from Helen as she gripped her teddy bear tighter. She turned to her back and looked at the ceiling, the stuffed animal clutched above her chest.

"May I ask why you've crawled into my bed at this early hour?" Harry did his best to keep from laughing when Helen glanced at him and rolled her eyes. It was a cute look.

"I'm an early riser." Harry, being the exact opposite, was surprised when he wasn't the least bit annoyed. So she got up early in the mornings…oh well, he could deal with it. He was sure there would have to be some sacrifices with this whole thing, and this was the first one.

Ginny stirred sleepily then, and Harry and Helen watched her as she crawled out of the grip of sleep as Harry had done moments before. She turned two bleary eyes toward Harry and, noticing Helen, smiled while trying to stifle a yawn. Harry couldn't help it anymore, and the laugh escaped his lips in a quiet snigger.

"What's so funny?" came the sleepy voice of Ginny. Helen looked like she was dying to know the answer too.

"Well, what time is it?" Harry asked.

"Almost six." It came from Helen, who was still on her back, looking at the ceiling.

Ginny groaned dramatically. "Too early…" Helen giggled, which caused Ginny to roll over and face her, giving her the exact type of questioning look that Harry had.

"What are you laughing at?" Noticing Harry's smile, she added, "And you too, Potter…"

"You know…I really don't know," he said. He did know, but he wasn't about to say to the both of them that it was because he couldn't ask for a more wonderful way to wake up: Ginny and Helen lying by his side.

Harry rolled over and stood up, stretching to his full height of 5'10" as he did so. "Well, I'm certainly not going back to sleep. We did crash pretty early last night."

Helen crawled to the edge and poked Harry in the back, which caused him to jump when he felt the small finger against his flesh. "What are we doing today, Harry?" Harry turned around, pulling on a shirt as he did so.

"Well, I had a few things in mind. For one, I plan on taking you to Diagon Alley and getting some new stuff for you." At her look of confusion, he added, "Well, if I'm going to be taking care of you, it's only right that we get you some clothes, books, and other things like that…" He trailed off as Helen gave him an excited smile, which he returned.

"Mind if I come, Helen?" Ginny asked. Helen turned and nodded enthusiastically. "Good, because I think you could use some _female_ influence on your shopping, too." She laughed at the cross look on Harry's face, and made one back at him.

"That's gonna be great! What else are we doing today?"

"Well, after breakfast I thought you might like a tour of the grounds. Hagrid would love to meet you," he added thoughtfully. "Oh! I'll introduce you to my Firebolt, too!"

"Firebolt? What's that?"

Ginny shook her head bemusedly at Harry. "I was wondering when that'd come up, Harry. You sure that's safe?"

"Oh relax, we won't do any real flying today."

"Flying? You can _fly?_" Helen's wide eyes were meeting Harry's amused ones.

"On my broom, yes. It's really fun—"

A squeal from Helen cut him off. "That sounds awesome! When can we try it?"

Harry laughed at the horrified look on Ginny's face, and replied, "Before lunch sometime. And actually," he continued, "why don't we have a picnic instead of eating in the Great Hall? You know, just the three of us."

Ginny smiled and nodded, watching the head of Helen bob up and down as she also agreed. "That sounds wonderful, Harry," she said.

"Alright then. How about…we leave in 30 minutes? We can get our shopping done before breakfast."

Ginny and Helen nodded in agreement again, and got up to get themselves ready. Harry wondered if Dumbledore would be awake at this hour of the morning (5:50 he noticed, glancing at a clock on the wall), but decided to floo him anyways. He took some powder and threw it into the fire, and stuck his head in. He was immediately greeted with a wavering image of the Headmaster's office, and sure enough, Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, looking over some papers. He wondered if the man ever slept.

Glancing at a clock and then back to Harry, Dumbledore said, "Awfully early for you, isn't it Harry?"

Harry grinned in response. "Well _someone_ is an early riser, apparently."

Dumbledore smiled and inclined his head. "What can I do for you?"

Deciding to cut to the chase, Harry replied, "I was wondering if it would be alright for Ginny, Helen, and I to visit Diagon Alley this morning before breakfast? Helen needs some new things, and what better way to spend these ungodly hours than shopping?"

Dumbledore was amused by his sarcasm, and said with a glint in his eye, "How is Ms. Weasley, by the way? I trust she slept well last night?"

Harry's face immediately looked sheepish and a nice ruby tinge rose to his cheeks. "Uh…yeah…I guess she did. But, we didn't do anything, Albus…" He stopped when the Headmaster raised a hand, cutting him off.

"Harry, I'm not worried about it. I'm sure you will both make the right decision." Harry's blush didn't lessen, but his face relaxed a little. "As for Diagon Alley…I don't see a problem with it. Just keep an eye out—you're still pretty recognizable even without the scar."

Harry nodded, glad that Dumbledore was allowing them to leave. "Thanks, Albus."

Dumbledore nodded at the gratitude and went back to the papers on his desk, dismissing Harry. He pulled back from the fireplace and looked around. Ginny and Helen were nowhere in sight, so he assumed that Ginny had gone to her dormitory and Helen was in her room. Quickly, he changed into some more appropriate clothes and found his wallet. He had always liked the Muggle method of carrying money better than dragging gold around, and was thrilled when Gringott's had announced a few months back that they were releasing the Wizarding version of debit cards. Harry had one and carried it with him all the time, partly because he never knew when he might need it and because it could be used in wizarding or Muggle society.

Harry sat down on a couch and waited. He could hear the water running, and guessed that Helen was in the shower. _Thank god she can do that by herself…that would be awkward_, he mused. She exited the bathroom a few minutes later. Her brown hair was glistening with moisture; she was wearing a faded pair of jeans and an old light blue blouse. She smiled brightly at Harry and threw her nightclothes into her room, and joined him on the couch. Just as she sat down, Ginny came through the portrait, also having just taken a shower. She was dressed in a pair of hip-hugging jeans—Harry eyed these appreciatively—and a blouse that was actually pretty similar to Helen's.

"You two ready?" he asked. When they nodded, he said, "Alright, we're going to use the floo from McGonagall's office." Harry picked up Helen, deciding that he wanted to carry her for a bit. She didn't mind at all, and settled into him. "Do you know how to floo?" he asked her.

"I read about it; it didn't seem hard."

Ginny laughed at that, causing both Harry and Helen to glance at her. Noticing this, she said, "Oh, it's nothing, just that Harry might disagree with you. He can't seem to land on his feet to save himself."

Harry growled in mock annoyance. "You better watch it Ms. Weasley. Did I mention that Dumbledore knew you were here last night?" He prayed that his face wouldn't turn red when he thought about it.

However, hers did, and he laughed at the startling shade of scarlet that rose into her cheeks. He shook his head at her horrified look, and said. "It's alright…he didn't care."

"What are you guys talking about?" It was Helen, and it caused Harry and Ginny to pass a significant glance to one another.

Ginny laughed a little nervously, still trying to fight the redness from her cheeks. "Nothing, Helen. Don't worry about it."

Helen rolled her eyes and said, "Oh, I get it. _Grown-up_ things." She made a face at the both of them, causing Harry and Ginny to burst out laughing. Their mirth followed them all the way to the McGonagall's office.

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The visit to Diagon Alley turned out to be very successful, and they returned to the school just as the hour struck nine. Ginny and Helen picked out an entirely new wardrobe for the six-year-old, after much assurance from Harry that price didn't matter, and they had then moved on to the bookstore. Helen seemed to know her way around well enough, and had soon picked out ten books that Harry wasn't sure if he'd even want to read. They were rather…informative.

They then went to the twins' joke shop, and said hello to Fred and George while Helen picked out some things she might like to play with. They were ecstatic about seeing their favorite—and only, as Harry reminded them—sister, and of course thanked Harry more times than was necessary for what he did. He waved it off, already getting slightly annoyed at the praise that would follow him for the rest of his life. They then stopped to get Helen some quills and parchment, in case she wanted or needed to write anything.

Finally, Harry directed them to Gringotts, and asked for Ginny to wait with Helen in the lobby while he took care of some business. He had the goblins set up a trust account with a quarter of what remained in his own trust account, which was surprisingly still several million galleons. He then got another debit card, which he gave to Ginny when he returned to them. She protested and tried to give it back, but Harry insisted, and she finally relented saying that she would only use it for emergencies.

After dropping their purchases in Harry and Helen's quarters—and receiving many strange looks from the Gryffindors in the common room as they passed through—the three of them made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Ron and Hermione were already there, and gave them questioning looks because they hadn't seen them that morning. Their quarters had been empty when they'd checked, and Ginny was nowhere to be found.

After finding out they'd been to Diagon Alley, breakfast was a quiet affair. Harry and Helen fielded more questions from students, and again the majority of them were about Helen rather than Harry's position as the DADA Professor for the following year. Ron and Hermione were unusually subdued, which Ginny noticed but Harry did not, and left the Great Hall much earlier than the other three did.

Sighing contentedly, Harry said, "Well that was certainly a good breakfast."

Helen, whose mouth was full of eggs at the moment, turned to him and merely nodded. A fleeting thought about how Ron wouldn't have had such manners passed through his mind, and he smiled at it.

Helen pushed her plate back and looked back and forth between Harry and Ginny, who were both done with their breakfasts. "Where does the food come from? Is that magic, too?"

"No, but I used to think the same thing. I used to think that Albus—that is, the Headmaster, who speaks before every meal—just created all the food from magic. But, there are tables below us, which the food is sent from when he gives the signal. Sorry, but no magic this time." Helen took it all in and slipped off the bench as Ginny and Harry stood up.

"How about a tour of the grounds?" Harry asked. Helen was immediately excited and raced in front of the two older people as they made their way from the Hall. Harry and Ginny shared knowing looks, and gave a brief smile to each other. They exited the doors into the bright sunshine, and Harry fleetingly thought that it was a spectacular day for the last one in April.

Apparently, Ginny was thinking along the same lines. "This is some weather we're having. Feels like July," she said as she turned her face toward the sun and closed her eyes, stopping briefly and stretching. Harry noticed as the sun illuminated her pale skin and made the freckles stand out even more than they usually did. She opened her eyes and noticed his stare, and he blushed a slight shade of pink. She shook herself slightly and turned to see where Helen was. She laughed openly when she saw the girl.

Helen had flopped down in the grass on her back, arms and legs outstretched in a kind of X-like shape. Her eyes were closed and her lips were stretched into a toothy grin, and her face was tilted in the direction of the mid-morning sun. With a shushing gesture at Ginny, Harry crept very quietly over to where Helen, being careful to avoid blocking the sunlight with his form.

Then, he pounced, tickling Helen's sides. Her eyes shot open and giggles were forced from mouth as she tried to curl away from him. Suddenly, Harry was bowled over and away from Helen, and before he could do anything, Ginny had straddled his stomach and was tickling him madly. He couldn't suppress the noisy laughter that escaped him, and couldn't do anything to defend himself. He was vaguely aware that Helen had joined Ginny as some point, smiling smugly as she got her revenge.

"Not so tough now, are you Harry?" Ginny mocked him. Growling through his laughter, Harry rolled Ginny off him and straddled her stomach. He raised an eyebrow at her, because she was clearly startled by his sudden agility. Suddenly, though he was pushed to the side and sprawled out across the ground. Her heard the telltale giggling of Helen, and looked up to her race away from them. Ginny followed her, throwing a smile back at Harry as they both sprinted away.

Harry jumped to his feet and followed them at a quick pace, catching up soon enough with his longer legs. Ginny might have been tall for her age—5'8"—but she couldn't run nearly as fast as Harry. Helen was also mighty quick for her size, but again, Harry could sprint fast when he needed or wanted to. He surpassed them and, putting on a higher burst of speed, made them follow him. He veered toward Hagrid's hut, and only stopped when he stood by the door. He was a little out of breath, but it was manageable, and smirked at the two girls when they stopped by him. They were panting and glaring at him. His smirk turned into an innocent smile.

"What?" he asked in a sweet voice.

"Ooooohhh…" Ginny said in a noise of frustration.

Harry laughed heartily as he turned and knocked on the door of Hagrid's hut. When he saw Helen's curious look, he explained. "This is the man that introduced me to the wizarding world. You couldn't meet a nicer guy. Don't be afraid of his size, ok?" She nodded and stared expectantly at the door. It was suddenly whipped open, and the huge frame of Hagrid was in standing there.

"'Arry! 'ow are ya?" he beamed. He grabbed Harry and gave him one of his signature bone-crushing hugs. It was then that he noticed the two girls that accompanied Harry.

"Ginny! And…Miss Davis!" Ginny smiled at Hagrid and let the big man give her a hug; while Helen's eyes widened that the huge man knew her name. Harry laughed and picked her up, partially to save her from one of Hagrid's embraces.

"Dumbledore told us about ya, m'lady," he said, and stepped back into the hut. The three followed him, but they didn't sit down.

"We can only stay for a minute, Hagrid," Harry explained, and Hagrid nodded at him. "Just wanted to say hello and see how you were doing," he finished.

Hagrid smiled at them, his gaze lingering on the girl in Harry's arms, before saying, "Wonderful, ya know? Now that the war is over, things seem ter be quietin' down a bit." Harry nodded and shifted Helen in his arms, who lightly laced her arms around Harry's neck and rested her cheek against his shoulder.

Hagrid sniffed suddenly, and wiped his eyes. Harry was startled by this, and could tell that Ginny was too. "Hagrid?" he asked.

Hagrid waved a hand and explained. "It's nothin'; don't be worryin' yourself about it." After a pause, he said, "James an' Lily would've been proud ter see their son turn out the way he did." He wiped more tears from eyes. It was almost an oxymoron to see a man who was so large cry.

Harry blushed and noticed the look of startled confusion that Helen was giving. The two of them had never really talked about his parents, and perhaps she was just realizing that.

Ginny was smiling at Hagrid when she said, "Yes, I'm sure they would have." She turned her smile on Harry, who blushed even redder.

"Alright, well thanks for letting us stop by. Have a good day, Hagrid," Harry said as he turned for the door.

"You too, 'Arry. See ya later," Hagrid said as the three young people left the cottage.

During the rest of the time before lunch, Harry and Ginny showed Helen around the rest of the land surrounding Hogwarts. They showed her the Forbidden Forest, and rather than being scared, she was fascinated. They showed her the Quidditch pitch, and explained the rules of the game as best as they could. She was impressed that Harry had been a seeker for so long and that Ginny was a chaser. She was excited to see a game, and couldn't wait for the final one that was in only a few weeks.

Harry and Ginny then took her down to the lake, passing by the Whomping Willow on the way and explaining what the tree was capable of. She laughed when Harry recalled his memory of landing in the tree with Ron during his Second Year. As they sat down on the shore of the lake—not far from where Harry had woken up with Ginny the other day—Helen noticed what a great view of the castle they had from there. She eyed it wonderingly for a little while. Harry and Ginny shared a look, and they were both thinking the same thing: _this is wonderful_.

Harry pulled his wand and something else out of his pocket, and muttered a charm on the second object. His Firebolt popped to its normal size, and Helen squealed in delight when she saw it. She bounced up and, upon his instruction, mounted the broom carefully. She made a quick study, and was soon guiding it slowly along the ground as Harry walked beside her. Ginny stayed by the lake, watching them both with a calm expression. She realized that Harry made an excellent teacher, and smiled smugly at the fact that Harry would be one of her Professors the following year.

After gliding around for a little while, Harry lifted Helen off the broom and told her they would practice again soon. He reshrunk the broom and they both returned to sit next to Ginny. Helen had a crazy smile on her face—she looked like Harry did after a Quidditch match.

"Dobby?" Harry suddenly asked. Helen looked at him like he was crazy, but her eyes widened at the small house elf that suddenly appeared near her. She yelped a bit and backed away.

"It's ok, Helen, he's here to help." Nodding, she didn't move any closer.

Dobby's ears drooped a little. "Dobby wouldn't hurt you, Miss Davis ma'am, and the friends the great Harry Potter sir has are the friends of Dobby!"

Harry placed a hand on Dobby's shoulder, to which Dobby looked up at him with wide eyes. "It's alright, Dobby. I was wondering if the three of us could have lunch out here today? I promised them a bit of a picnic." Dobby grinned and nodded at Harry, obviously glad to be of service of his favorite wizard in the world. With a soft _crack_, he disappeared to get their lunch.

"Was that a house-elf?" Helen asked, scooting back to her original position. Harry nodded. "I read about them once." Harry shook his head and grinned, and picked up a smooth stone and hurled it across the lake, watching as it skipped several times.

"He's a great friend to have," Harry said as he stared out across the water. Dobby popped back just then, earning a little squeak from Helen, but she didn't retreat from the house elf this time. He quickly set up the picnic and bowed to Harry.

"Thank you, Dobby. I appreciate it."

Dobby looked up with wide, wet eyes. "The great Harry Potter thanks Dobby! Harry Potter is a great wizard!" And with that, he vanished. Chuckling a bit at the usual flattery from the friendly house elf, Harry motioned to Ginny and Helen to settle in. After a few minutes of quietly eating and enjoying the serenity of the day, Harry suddenly looked at Helen.

"You know, Helen, I never asked you when your birthday is."

She looked up at Harry. There was an odd expression on her face, but Harry new that it was not one he should be seeing on a six-year-old's face. It was…sorrow…but it went beyond that. Harry was an observant person, so he imagined that his own face looked like that at times. _If this is how I affect people with just one look…_He didn't finish that, though, because Helen finally answered.

"August first." Her voice was very quiet.

"What's the matter, Helen?" Ginny asked. She had obviously sensed the sudden change in the young girl's mood as well.

Her lip trembled inexplicably. She was trying very hard not to cry. "It's just…no one's ever asked me that b-before." When she said 'before', her breath hitched in a sob and the first tear tumbled down her cheeks. Ginny and Harry shared a breath look that said many things at the same time: _She's never received presents…no one's ever cared about her birthday…they didn't ask at the Orphanage…_Harry couldn't help but notice yet another similarity between Helen's and his own childhood.

Harry moved over to sit next to Ginny, and drew Helen close to him so she was sitting in both of their laps. They both just held her as her sobs slowly quieted down; Ginny was gently smoothing her brown locks against her head and Harry had one arm around her while the other was slowly rubbing her back.

"Shh…it's ok, Helen. I promise you right now that your birthday this year will something you'll remember for the rest of your life." Helen slowly turned her head to Harry, staring at him with wide, hopeful eyes. When she saw the sincerity there she leapt from their laps into a tight embrace with him. He was startled at the intensity of it, but returned it nonetheless. She disengaged herself from Harry and did the same thing to Ginny, almost bowling her over.

"And you know what? My birthday is on July thirty-first. We can celebrate them together!" She promptly let go of Ginny and launched herself at Harry, and this time he was bowled over. He heard a light laugh from Ginny, but was more focused on the brightly smiling girl above him. Then she leaned down and did something Harry never expected and would never forget: she kissed his cheek and then leaned her own against his.

He was so pleasantly shocked that he barely breathed for a few seconds, before pushing himself into a sitting position, with Helen's cheek still against his. He looked over her shoulder at Ginny, who looked like she would cry at any moment over the display of affection.

Collecting his scattered thoughts, he asked, "Are we done here?" He felt Helen nod and Ginny did as well. "Dobby?" The house elf appeared.

"Thank you so much Dobby. It was a wonderful meal."

Dobby bowed his head and muttered graciously, before snapping his fingers and disappearing with the picnic and himself. Harry stood up, conscious of the warm cheek that still rested against his.

"Think we should get some studying in between now and dinner, Gin?"

She sighed. "I suppose so…" She then glanced at Helen's back and raised an eyebrow. Her eyes were still a bit cloudy from what she'd just seen.

As if sensing the gaze on her back, Helen said, "I think I'll read a bit while you guys study." Her breath was warm on Harry's face, and he smiled a bit as he patted her back.

"That sounds wonderful. You'll be smarter than me soon." To Helen's quiet laugh, he added, "It's true!" Ginny smirked at him and they both turned and headed for the castle. Helen didn't move her head until they'd reached the quarters. Harry ignored the looks he new he was getting from everyone he passed, as did Ginny. _I don't care what they think anymore. It's not important—not after that._

Harry finally set Helen down once inside the portrait, and she set off to her room in search of a book. Ginny came through the painting just then, and she was carrying a few of her books and some parchment. Harry summoned his materials from his room and they settled onto the couch next to each other. Helen came out from her room, carrying a rather thick book, and settled into the chair by the fireplace. Smiling briefly at Ginny and Harry, she opened it at once and began to read. The three of them settled in for a quiet afternoon.

----------

"Harry, can I talk to you?" Harry paused at he stood up from the table, having just finished dinner in the Great Hall. Hermione had asked the question, and she was now staring at him intently. Ginny, Helen, and Ron were looking back and forth expectantly.

Harry motioned with his hand. "Sure."

"No—not here. I need to talk to you…alone." Something in her tone worried Harry, but he masked it with a confused look. Ron looked a bit confused too.

"Um…sure. For what?"

"Just follow me." She turned to Ron and said, "I'll meet up with you later, ok?" He nodded a little reluctantly, obviously wanting to know what was going on.

Harry glanced at Ginny and Helen, and then asked, "Could you watch Helen for a little while, Ginny?"

She nodded, and giving one last wary look to Harry, gathered up one of Helen's hands in her own and left the Great Hall. Ron followed a bit behind them, keenly glancing over his shoulder at the remaining pair as he left.

Hermione motioned for Harry to follow her, and they exited the Hall. They were both silent as she led him through the castle, eventually stopping outside an unused classroom. She opened the door and entered, and as Harry followed, set up silencing and privacy charms around the room. Harry raised an eyebrow at this, but didn't comment. Hermione sat down in a desk that was facing another, and Harry took that second seat.

Harry watched her for a moment, while she seemed to collect her thoughts. She looked as she usually did, but he couldn't help but notice a few faint lines by her eyes that hadn't been there before. There were the beginnings of shadows underneath them, as well, and her hair was pulled back in a careless ponytail. Something was obviously bothering her.

"Is something wrong, Hermione?" He had to break the silence that was settling on them, and that was the first thing that came to his mind.

Harry immediately wished he hadn't, though, because Hermione's suddenly stark gaze settled on his own. He couldn't remember seeing that gaze directed at him, but there was no mistaking that now. Her cool brown eyes radiated something that gave Harry a sinking feeling, but he wasn't sure why.

"How have you been, Harry?" she asked. He was surprised by the question, because it was so different from what he was expecting, and she must have noticed it, because she laughed. She wasn't laughing with humor or even _with_ him; no, she was laughing from what sounded like spite and _at_ him.

A little uneasily, Harry said, "Um…fine…you?" Her laughing cut off abruptly.

"So now you find the need to ask that question?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I think you know what I'm talking about, Harry."

"No, actually I don't. What question?"

"Hmm, let's see, how about… 'How have you been, Hermione?'" Harry went from being only a little bewildered to being completely so.

"What are you talking about?" he asked again, annoyance creeping into his voice.

"Think over the past week, Harry."

Harry was silent for a moment. _Where the hell is this conversation going_? "What am I supposed to be thinking about?"

"Is it really that unclear? Do you really not know what all this is about?" she asked, and for some reason he could sense hurt in her voice.

He was still annoyed, though. _That's what I've been trying to tell her…_ "Look, Hermione, I love you dearly, but could you please cut to the chase?"

She sighed, but it wasn't a sigh of contentment. No, this was a sigh of everything but that. It held frustration…regret…loss even. "When was the last time you, Ron, and I had a conversation with each other? More than just a few words?"

Harry felt like he'd been slapped. He could almost feel the sharp pain against his skin as if he actually had been. His brain sped over the past the week, trying to point out a time that they had. The harder he tried, though, the clearer the picture was—Ron and Hermione had been a very small part of his life in the past week.

"Um…" was all he could say in response.

Hermione's features suddenly flashed in anger, and he recoiled a bit. "What do you mean, 'um'? Is that all you can really say?"

"Hermione, calm down—"

"Calm down? Oh, I'm calm Harry; as a matter of fact, I've never been calmer. I've been trying to be rational about this for the past couple days, but its getting harder. I don't know how much longer I'm going to _be_ calm."

"What are you trying to say here, Hermione? What is it that's really bothering you?"

She pounded the desk in frustration. "Jesus Harry, when the hell did you become so thick?" Harry was surprised by her cursing, but wisely didn't open his mouth. "Ever since that day when you got Voldemort, I can't help but remember the images that flashed through my mind when your…aura…or whatever…passed over me. They were comforting, but now I wonder what's changed?"

This was news to Harry. "Wait, what images?"

She gave him a funny look, as if she couldn't believe he didn't know, but continued. "Well…it was almost like looking at the future, at what we would be in, say, twenty years. Ron said he saw the same thing, only different of course."

_Why does she always speak in riddles?_ "Look…I honestly don't really see what the point of what you're telling me is—"

"The point is, Harry," she cut him off coolly, "is that something changed. I no longer feel the comfort from those images."

"If you think something's changed between the three of us, then you have to be kidding me. We've been best friends—no, more than best friends—since we were eleven. I can't even believe you're insinuating this!" Harry felt his ire rise a little at what Hermione was implying. He didn't like being mad with her, but this was a shock to him.

"At this point, Harry, I really don't think I'm insinuating anything. How can you ignore it when it's staring you in the face?"

Harry knew he sounded petulant, but he had to ask. "And how does Ron feel about this?"

"The same was I do."

Harry closed his eyes briefly and thought, _has the world gone mad?_ "Did you or Ron ever think to ask me about this the _first_ time either of you felt slighted?"

"Oh please, Harry. We wouldn't have been able to distract you long enough to tell you about it."

_Wait a minute. Is that what this is really about?_ Harry didn't like this at all, and especially coming from Hermione. She was always the most logical and forthright of the trio. Hermione's mind never ceased to amaze Harry, but right now her reasoning confused him. _Surely she is smarter than this…_

"Please don't tell me you're talking about Ginny…" He paused, adding suddenly: "Or Helen."

The look in her eyes, however, suggested otherwise. "I thought that friends were worth more to you Harry. No, you know what, I thought we were more than _friends_ to you." He started to speak, but she cut him off. "You've always felt like the brother I never had, and I think our bond goes deeper than even that. I was an only child and I had very few friends growing up, and it wasn't really any different at Hogwarts, at first. That is, until two people saved me from a mountain troll." Her voice had slowly acquired a throaty tone, and Harry silently pleaded with her not to cry. He hated to see her cry.

"You and Ron were my first real friends, and to this day remain my only _true_ friends. My 'know-it-all' personality tends to scare people away, and I can't keep friends for long. You and Ron were the exception though, and I've grown into the fact that I can depend on you both for anything. Recently—just this past week—it seemed like I something was different; something had changed."

Harry listened to her speech and felt a mixture of emotions wash over him. Guilt, compassion, worry…they all clouded together and confused his thinking. What she said next, though, caused a rage to overpower them all.

"Yesterday I saw what it was. I know what's changed…you don't need Ron or I anymore, however much we may need you. You have Ginny, and now you have Helen. Sometimes I wish that you'd never met either of them."

Harry's angry voice whipped her head up. "That's what this is about? You're _jealous_ of the time I spend with the woman I love and the child I've grown to care for? Hermione, you of all people should know better than that! I didn't think you allowed yourself to wallow in petty thoughts like these." A full-blown tantrum simmered barely beneath the surface of Harry.

Hermione's temper flared as well. "Listen to yourself, Harry! You're seventeen! How can you even say 'the child I've grown to care for'? You're too young for that. Helen deserves a real home and real childhood. She deserves someone who can love her and focus on her needs—"

"Are you saying that I can't love?" Harry's voice was dangerously cold, and Hermione subdued a wince it caused.

"No, not exactly, Harry. But that is beside the point. Do you realize what you're getting yourself into?"

Hermione felt an odd pressure in the air around her, and noticed that the room began to shimmer. With widening eyes, she realized that Harry was barely controlling his magic. Her heart quickened in apprehension; she'd seen what he'd done to the Death Eaters with just a shout…

"You know, Hermione, for being such an insufferable know-it-all, I would have thought you could answer that question yourself." Harry's voice did nothing to alleviate her fears, as it was nothing more than a low growl now. "For supposedly being the smartest witch of our generation, you're being remarkably ignorant." Harry listened to his voice, almost in shock as he heard the words that he said. He couldn't deny the hurt that her words had caused, though, that he wasn't capable of taking care of Helen. He had a right to be angry.

And then Hermione slapped him. Hard. The sharp noise of flesh hitting flesh actually echoed through the vacant classroom. Hermione drew her hand back in alarm at what she'd done, unsure of where it had come from, and froze when she saw the look in Harry's emerald gaze. She'd seen that look a few times before, and it had never been directed to someone he didn't end up hurting. His hand raised absentmindedly to rub his cheek, the sharp pain of the slap still ringing in his ears and his flesh. And his soul.

He stood abruptly and turned to leave. He was halfway to the door when Hermione called out. "Wait, Harry."

He stopped and waited for her to continue, and turned slightly when she didn't. The red heat his gaze imparted on her was enough to make her wither. "You don't want to be around me right now, Hermione." His voice sounded oddly strained, as if he were trying very hard to control something, and he turned and left the room.

Hermione watched him go with wide eyes, realizing that he'd just saved her from physical harm—by his own hands. _It's your fault, Granger_, she thought bitterly to herself. _Why did you slap him? You know how hard it is for him to trust and love. You just broke that tonight, you stupid girl, with your stupid mindless slap. HOW COULD YOU BE SO FUCKING STUPID?_ She was screaming to herself now. It didn't last long, though, as she broke down into silent sobs. She had realized something: _It's changed. It's all changed. The three of us can never be the same._

----------

It took all of Harry's self-control and the entire trek back to his Gryffindor quarters to get his rage, shock, and uncertainty under control. As he did so, as he struggled against the powerful currents of magic that coursed through his body as a result of his emotions, his thoughts would not stop. _How could she do that? She really_ is_ the smartest witch of our generation and she blithely turns her back on me like that. We've been so close for so long. Is this the price we have to pay for saving the wizarding world? Is this how it comes back to get us? We lose faith in each other and betray the trust we had so easily yet solidly built? Hermione is like a sister to me, yet she could insult Helen and me like that. I feel so…dirty._

_And what's worse, Potter,_ a second more insipid voice started_, is that you almost lost control. How close were you to letting the magic out? What would have happened if you did? How much damage and regret would there be?_

_No, _the first voice responded_, I can't think about that. It didn't happen and therefore there is no need to think about it. I got it under control. It is my responsibility to control this power I've been blessed (cursed,_ the second voice added_) with, and I have._

The second voice didn't respond, and as he relaxed in the silence, he was already building mental walls around his shock and the betrayal he felt. He was already distancing himself from what happened; closing off his emotions and guarding them was an easy thing to do and it was almost effortless. The power of emotions that had almost made him lose control was filed away, and the only thing that remained was the bitter aftertaste of the betrayal. He pointedly ignored the quiet voice that told him when those barriers fell it would be hundreds of times worse than dealing with the feelings now.

Ginny could see that something was wrong when Harry returned, but the look he gave her clearly said that he didn't want to talk about it. Harry looked over at Helen, who had looked up when he walked in. She must have noticed something was bothering him too, because she had a pensive look on her face. It passed, though, and she smiled at him. Harry smiled in return, and sat down next to Ginny on the couch as Helen went back to her reading.

A little while later, Harry yawned, which was then almost comically mirrored by Helen and Ginny. He raised his eyebrow skeptically at them. "Eight-thirty and we're knackered?"

"You know, Harry, _someone_ did wake us up at quarter to six," Ginny said with a bemused head movement in Helen's direction.

Harry yawned again and shrugged his shoulders. "Oh well. What do you say we all hit the sack?"

Ginny nodded and got up to get her stuff from her dormitory. She crossed the common room, while trying her best to ignore the curious looks a few Gryffindors sent her way. It was already common knowledge in the school that she had spent the night in Harry's suite, but she didn't care. When she was this happy, what did the opinions of others matter? She reached the stairs to her dormitory and started up. Just after she'd opened the door to her room, she gasped out loud.

Her hand clutched at her chest for a moment as her mind tried to contemplate the sudden pain that had struck there. It was sharp and focused, with the most piercing part of it coming with each frantic beat of her heart. After a moment it faded, leaving her with a racing pulse and a sweaty forehead. She stood still for a moment as her heart rate returned to normal, briefly wondering what had just happened. She passed it off as indigestion and went to get her nightclothes.

When she returned to the suite, Harry was just exiting Helen's room, clearly having tucked her in. He had a goofy smile plastered to his face.

"I'm gonna get a quick shower," he said. At Ginny's nod, he started toward the bathroom. She went into their room—_our room? Did I really just…Merlin—_and changed. Crawling into bed, she waited for Harry to join her. She was rewarded several minutes later when Harry came in wearing a towel. He glanced at the bed and must have thought she was sleeping, because what he did next made her blush to the roots of her hair.

He dropped his towel, under which he was wearing nothing of course, and pulled on a pear of boxers. She willed the warmth in her cheeks to go away as he approached the bed, and he apparently didn't notice as he slid in and slid over to her. She pretended to shift in her sleep, allowing him an easier way to get close to her. He settled her into his arms and they both drifted off to sleep, thinking how lucky they were.

----------

The following day brought classes for both Harry and Ginny, so Harry decided that he would take Helen to class with him. She was ecstatic, of course, because she'd get the chance to learn more things about the magical world. The day passed fairly smoothly; the only exception being a single strange glance Hermione had given him and a rather dark one Ron sent his way. He chose to ignore them, though, because he knew that all three of them would come around eventually. He surmised the stress and shock of all they'd been through for the past year—seven years, even—was finally catching up to them and causing a temporary rift. He would give it some time to work itself out.

He was startled from his reverie by a laugh from most of the class he was sitting in, and evidently Professor Lupin had said something they'd found funny. For a seventh year DADA class, it was surprisingly full, which Harry suspected that his DA had something to do with. Helen was perched on the edge of a chair that was next to Harry's, listening attentively to whatever the Professor was saying. He smiled when he realized she'd be smarter than him by the time she was a double digit in age. He looked around again, and then focused on what Remus was saying.

"…going to be doing some practical learning today, which I'm sure you will all enjoy." Remus looked around, noticing the anticipation on the faces of the students present. His eyes swept over Harry and his newfound friend, Miss Davis, and he noticed with no small amount of glee that she was hanging on his words. It always did give him a kind of thrill when his words were appreciated.

"Alright, before we begin, who can tell me what a Dementor is?" Remus frowned when Hermione didn't raise her hand, because she seemed too preoccupied with her own thoughts. _Oh well, she surely knows this anyway._ After a moment, Neville raised his hand. He nodded.

"A Dementor is a dark magical creature. Um…little is known about where they came from or what they're made of."

"Very good," said Remus. "Now, can anyone tell me what it is that makes a Dementor so devastating?" Again, Hermione didn't raise her hand, so he instead called on Harry when he reluctantly did so.

"The Dementor feeds off of happy memories and feelings. They weed out all of the good moments in a person and leave nothing but bitterness and despair, with only nightmares and visions left." Remus felt hollow for a second at the vivid description, and had to remind himself that Harry had been through more in his seventeen years than Remus' entire life.

"Excellent, Harry. All right, who knows the incantation for the Patronus charm, which is the only known protection against them?" When Hermione still didn't raise her hand—_Merlin, three questions in a row_, Harry distractedly mused—he was about to raise his own hand, but was stopped by Helen leaning over to him.

She whispered, "Can I answer this one?" She was a little breathless.

"You know the answer?" Harry didn't try very hard to conceal his surprise, and she looked a little affronted.

"Of course, Harry!"

"Alright, go ahead."

Remus watched that little banter with a raised eyebrow, and was strangely unsurprised when the little girl raised her hand to answer. No one else had done so, which was strange because they should all know it from the Defense club Harry had put together in his fifth year. So, he called on her.

"Yes, Miss Davis?" Most of the heads in the class swiveled in her direction.

She fought with her shy tendencies for a moment; she was obviously uncomfortable with the stares she was receiving. However, she overcame it.

"The incantation is the Latin phrase _Expecto Patronum_, which means to expel the protection of a saint from your soul." She recited the knowledge effortlessly, and Remus was aware that a few of the stares had become irritated when they'd realized a six-year-old clearly knew more than them. _There is more to this whole situation than I thought…_

"I'm impressed, Miss Davis. I wish more of my students had the same desire for knowledge that you clearly have." She beamed and blushed at the same time at the compliment, and looked quite pleased with herself. Harry was smiling proudly at her, and Remus nearly choked when he recognized that look: _That's the look a father gives his daughter_. Helen looked up at Harry in admiration.

Shaking off his thoughts, Remus continued. "Alright, today we will be practicing the charm and attempting to produce a Patronus. This is very advanced magic, so do not be discouraged if you cannot do it yet." He paused, sweeping his eyes around the room for effect, before continuing. "The key to producing the Patronus is coupling the incantation with the happiest thought and feeling you can summon. The Patronus is one of the purest forms of magic there is, which is why even a Dementor will retreat from it."

One by one, he called the students to the front of the room to practice the charm in front of the class. And one by one, they were all disappointed as the most that happened was a faint silver mist that crawled from the tips of their wands. Remus didn't fail to notice the rapt attention with which Helen was watching all of it, and the rather bored looking expression on Harry's face. _Of course he'd be bored. He's been able to produce a corporeal Patronus for four years now. I think I'll save him for last_.

Neville approached the front and said the incantation. A bright light white shown from the end of the wand, and Remus was happy for him. While it might not have been a corporeal or even very powerful Patronus, he was much further ahead then the rest of the class. Neville was the type of person for which a little confidence could go a long way. He praised him a bit and sent him back to his seat. Ron was next—Remus noticed he looked abnormally subdued—and he succeeded in casting a very weak corporeal Patronus. It looked to be a small dog of some sort; possibly a Jack Russell terrier.

Remus wasn't surprised at all because he _had_ been instrumental in the destruction of Voldemort, and nodded appreciatively. He called Hermione next, and she exuded a practiced ease as she cast the charm. A weak—but stronger than Ron's—corporeal Patronus showed up, and the image caused Remus to smile. It was of an otter, and it flapped once before fading. Turning the smile on her, he nodded and she returned to her desk.

"All right, how about you, Harry?" Harry got up and ignored the expectant stares as best he could, but he could feel they were all waiting for him to do it, and they had been for a while. He was a little surprised at that because they had seen it two years earlier, but he supposed they wondered how much it had changed. Harry reached the front of the class and finally met some of their eyes. He thought he saw eager anticipation in a few of them._ Odd…_he thought.

He raised his wand and bellowed, "_Expecto Patronum!"_ There was a startlingly brilliant flash of silvery-white light, and the air in the room actually rippled as Harry focused his magic on the task at hand. Once the light had dimmed a little, shocked gasps filled the room, including Harry and Remus's.

Whereas Prongs had been a powerful corporeal Patronus before, shimmering softly in any light, he was now shining with an intense halo of silver-white brightness. The radiance was simply to astounding to view, and Prongs seemed to notice it as he pawed the floor with a hoof and shook his head from side to side. Seeing that there was no real reason for him to be there, the Patronus faded slowly, leaving the dazzled eyes of the class in his wake.

"That is impressive, Harry," Remus said, quietly. Smiling lightly, Harry nodded at him. As he was returning to his seat, with the impressed stares of most of his classmates at his back, Remus said, "I think that is enough for today. For next class, I want you to read pages 300-315 on the theory of the Patronus charm. We will practice this some more the next time we meet."

Murmurs broke out as the class started to file out of the room. "Harry," Remus called. He stopped and looked back at the Professor, who was clearly waiting for the rest of the students to leave. Remus was surprised, however, when Ron and Hermione left without asking what was going on. Helen was looking up at Harry questioningly, still having a hard time hiding her admiration at his Patronus.

"Could I have a word with you?" He glanced at Helen, and Harry understood what the meant.

"Helen, do you think you could wait for me for a few minutes back here while I talk to Professor Lupin?"

She nodded and immediately went to the bookshelf in the back of the room. Harry turned and started toward the front of the classroom, but stopped when he heard, "Harry?" It was Helen, and he turned toward her. She had a sheepish look on her face.

"Do you think I could try that charm?" Her voice was quiet, but both Harry and Remus heard. Harry turned to Remus as if asking permission, and he merely shrugged. He actually wanted to see this, so he wasn't going to stop it.

Harry gave Helen his wand and stepped back. She inspected the instrument closely for a moment, before holding it out before her.

"_Expecto Patronum!"_ she yelled. Remus and Harry weren't expecting anything, so they both nearly had heart attacks when a large silvery-white object flew from the end of the wand. It was brighter than Hermione's had been.

_But what is it…_Remus thought, annoyed that he couldn't tell. It was flying around the room at an alarming rate. When it slowed, his eyes widened. _Merlin, it's a phoenix! A six-year-old with a corporeal Phoenix Patronus…my word…how many more surprises are Harry and Helen going to have for us all?_

After the Phoenix faded, Harry turned to Helen with a look of shock on his face. She misinterpreted it though, and thought that she had done something wrong. Her face fell, and quicker than Remus could see, Harry had her in his arms.

"Are you mad at me, Harry?" she asked fearfully.

Harry vehemently shook his head. "Of course not! How could I be mad at you? That was amazing!"

Her face brightened immediately. "Really? Ooo, thanks Harry!" She embraced Harry tightly, resting her cheek against his. He turned and walked to the front of the room, evidently forgetting about Remus' wish for privacy. _Oh well. What I have to say isn't all that important and can wait_.

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" Harry asked as he gently shifted Helen in his arms a bit. She was still resting her cheek against his, and they both seemed oddly comforted by it. It was in that moment, while watching Harry carry the small girl, that Remus realized just how good Helen Davis was for Harry Potter. There were no expectations between the two of them. They could be themselves and thrive off the company of each other, and apparently a much deeper bond had formed than most realized.

With a wave of his hand, Remus said, "You know what? I don't remember now. Leave it to a Phoenix to make you forget what you were going to say." Harry chuckled at this, and he could feel Helen's smile against the side of his face.

"That was…something else," Harry said. It was Remus' turn to chuckle and as he did he dismissed Harry. Harry left the room, but on the way Remus thought he saw an appreciative glance from the six-year-old over Harry's shoulder.

----------

Harry gave the password to the Gargoyle and led Helen up the revolving stairs. Ginny had stayed in the suite because Dumbledore asked for the two of them to come alone. Helen wanted to walk instead of taking the floo, so Harry and her had traversed the halls to the Headmaster's office. Harry knocked and entered upon the word from Dumbledore. Helen was walking by his side with her hand in his.

Dumbledore smiled warmly in greeting. The twinkle seemed to be on overdrive. "Hello, Harry; Miss Davis." Harry nodded at him and Helen smiled, aware that this was the man who got her to Hogwarts in the first place.

"Care for a lemon drop?" he asked. Harry smiled ruefully and shook his head, but Helen accepted one.

"So what's this about, Albus?"

"Not one for pleasantries, are you Harry?" Harry shrugged and grinned at the old man.

"Have I ever been?"

"You have a point." Dumbledore nodded. "Anyways, I have some news for the both of you."

Harry perked up instantly. "Oh?" Helen was still enjoying her candy.

"Yes. About that…matter we talked about the other day." He picked up some papers and held them in his. "It seems as if the Ministry has found no reason to argue."

Harry's mind was racing. The Ministry had already agreed to let the adoption go through? For a bureaucracy as deeply as entrenched as Britain's Ministry of Magic, that was very surprising. How would Helen react, though? She _had_ said she wanted to do it, but it was awfully fast. Harry was getting very nervous for some reason.

Harry turned to her. "Helen, do you know what we're talking about?"

She thought about it for a moment and shook her head.

"Well…do you remember what we talked about on Saturday? You know…before we went to lunch?"

She had a vacant look for a moment, but then her eyes widened considerably. She acquired a hopeful look, but it was tempered by sadness. She obviously wasn't expecting much. Harry looked at Albus, willing him to continue.

"The papers I'm holding in my hand have the power to let Harry adopt you, Miss Davis," he explained simply. She nodded, acknowledging that she understood. Her wide eyes settled on the papers.

"Now, I have to ask this. You're sure you want to do this?" She nodded. "You both are?" he asked, with a pointed look at Harry. Helen shifted her gaze to Harry, and he could only smile and nod as her deep brown pools drew him in.

"Alright, well I'd just like to remind you of the discussion we had, Harry," Dumbledore said, his tone a little sharper than usual. Harry met his eyes with a resolute gaze, and nodded almost imperceptibly. He knew what the consequences could be if he lost control of his power, as he had almost done the day before, and fully intended on never doing so. He would keep them in check until the training.

Dumbledore smiled in approval. "Then the only thing that needs to done is for you to sign here, Harry," he motioned with his hand. Harry took a quill and signed the line, adding his own graceful manuscript to the tiny legal print on the page.

"And Miss Davis," he added, motioning to another spot. She looked at Harry tentatively for a moment, unwilling to believe what was happening, and he smiled gently at her. She took the quill and added her own print to another line. Dumbledore then added his signature to the witness line and stamped the small box at the bottom with the Hogwarts seal.

"Well Harry…Miss Potter. I believe everything is in order." As if the full weight of it hit Helen upon hearing 'Miss Potter', she burst into tears that could only be described as ecstatic. She was smiling, laughing, and crying at the same time, and threw herself at Harry. She launched into his arms and smothered him in a powerful hug. Harry had to blink back his own tears at the display of emotion, and returned the embrace. Dumbledore was grinning at him, and discretely wiped his eye. With a motion of his hand, he shooed them from his office playfully.

Harry exited and was halfway back to his suite when Helen finally calmed down enough to lean back and look at Harry in the face. Her cheeks were shining with moisture but she was grinning uncontrollably.

Harry raised an eyebrow at her in question. "Yes, Miss Potter?"

If it were even possible, the grin widened even more. "I'm just…so happy!" she fairly squealed.

Harry laughed and grinned back at her. "So am I, Helen. So am I."

She gave a sigh on contentment and leaned forward once again, resting her cheek against Harry's in what was quickly becoming her favorite position. Harry rubbed her back gently as he continued walking, and marveled at the peace he was feeling within himself. Something about carrying her like this put him completely at ease, and he knew he would grow to love the feeling even more than he already did.

Helen's hot breath against his ear startled him. "I love you, Daddy," she whispered.

----------

Inevitably, the relentless and unwavering flow of time continued on. The war and Voldemort was fading from everyone's daily thoughts, and as each day passed, the distance between the memory and the feelings increased. The seventh years were frantically studying for their NEWTS while the rest of the students—except the fifth years, of course—were gearing up for their normal final exams. Harry spent most of his time while not in class studying in his suite, with Helen reading in the chair by the fireplace and Ginny occasionally doing her own work.

Harry studied with Ron and Hermione quite a bit, but there was a strained quality to any meeting the three of them had now. It was in the air; it was tangible to the point that Ginny brought it up one night toward the end of May, but Harry simply shrugged it off saying he didn't know what she was talking about. That same night, Ginny had another chest pain as she crawled into bed with Harry, but her sharp intake of breath went unnoticed by Harry, who was already asleep.

Harry and Ginny still hadn't made use of their accommodations, but they were both comfortable in waiting. They slowly became more used to the idea of sleeping together, and whatever shyness may have greeted them at first, faded as the warm month of June began to pass. Ginny and Helen deepened and strengthened their relationship, and Harry was struck by the duality that he saw. In some ways their relationship was like a big-sister/litter-sister one, but in others ways it was a mother/daughter one. Harry didn't know what to make of it, but it warmed his heart nonetheless.

The week of NEWTS passed quickly, and Harry was pleasantly surprised that he had very little trouble with any of his exams. He wasn't exactly a studious person, but he always considered himself to be intelligent, and it felt good to know he did well. Hermione, of course, fretted over her grades, but she undoubtedly got Outstanding on them all. Ron, on the other hand, looked more stricken after each exam he took, but Harry was used to his self-doubt.

After the NEWTS, though, there was no studying to be had, so the strain in the Trio grew. They rarely did anything with just the three of them anymore, but Harry supposed that it might just be them growing up. He ignored the feeling that something was missing when he hadn't been with them for a few days, and instead focused on the strengthening relationship between himself, Ginny, and Helen. The three became almost inseparable, and Helen quickly won the hearts of many at Hogwarts with her sweet precociousness and honest innocence.

Finally, though, the day that Harry knew was coming for seven years had arrived. The final Friday morning in June brought his graduation from the place he had called home for more than a third of his life, and it was strangely bittersweet. He would be teaching there the next year, but to him it seemed like something was going to be irrevocably altered. With a small sigh, he swung himself out of bed to get ready for the day ahead and the trials and tribulations it would surely bring.


	10. Graduation

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: Hope you enjoy!**

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Chapter 10: Graduation

Harry was quietly rummaging around in his trunk when he heard the floo out in the suite's living area crackle to life. He sighed and gave up the search for his graduation robes, and pushed himself up from the squatting position. The flames crackled again—louder, this time—so he quickly opened the door and slipped into the still dark room beyond. He turned toward the fire and saw Dumbledore's head floating there.

"Ah, Harry. I hope I didn't wake you."

"No, Albus, I had just gotten up."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "I wish to speak to you…in private."

Harry raised an eyebrow, and then wordlessly waved his right hand around the room. The doors were immediately locked and a silencing charm was put in place. Dumbledore watched the wandless magic but said nothing.

Harry motioned for him to continue. "And?"

"Well, I'm afraid I have some bad news."

A shadow crossed Harry's face briefly, but otherwise he showed no emotion. He stayed silent, so Dumbledore continued. "Poppy has informed me that Mr. Malfoy passed during the night. His heart stopped beating and they couldn't revive him."

Harry's face remained impassive. He had actually been expecting this for some time now, especially since two weeks before when Madam Pomfrey had announced to the staff that he had very little time left. She said in trying to heal, his body was actually doing more harm than good.

"Oh," was all he said, after a moment.

It was Dumbledore's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Harry…"

Harry held up a hand. "Don't worry about it, Albus. I'm not bottling up my emotions. It's just…I'm not really that upset."

The old man's eyebrow went higher. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not _happy_ or anything of the sort, but I can't really bring myself to be sad for the boy who was going to kill you. I never wanted him dead, but there was no love lost between us, and I'm not really that sorry to see him go."

"Then why the impulsive reaction to the Death Eaters that night, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry glared at him for a moment. Leave it up to the old coot to bring up that whole mess on this day of all days. "I didn't know it was Draco at the time."

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, with a thoughtful look on his face. "So if you had, you wouldn't have tried to save him as you did?"

Harry shook his head. "I didn't say that." He paused, collecting his own thoughts, which were still slightly bleary from sleep. "I don't know what I would have done if I'd known it was him. I'd like to think I would have tried to stop them, but…I guess I'll never know."

Dumbledore sighed in the fire. He looked weary and careworn and very much his age. He looked at Harry with a sincere eye. "Harry, don't let the past haunt you—I know it does. I can see it in you every day; every time I look at you I can tell you're constantly reliving things that have come to pass. You can't dwell on the past—certainly do not forget it—but do not let it control you."

"I try not to, believe me I do. With Draco, though…I can't help but feel a sense of pity with my bitterness. He lived a life he was forced into, programmed by the ideals of his father." Harry's lips quirked into a small, ironic smile. "I sometimes catch myself wondering what I would be like now if I _had_ taken his hand that first day."

"Perhaps you would have changed him for the better…or him you for the worse. Regardless, I just wanted to let you know, because you were the one that prevented his death before."

Harry nodded. "What of the burial?"

"Well, Lucius and Narcissa are both dead, so we will most likely bury him in the small school plot. It will be a very small ceremony, probably sometime on Sunday."

Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. "I don't know if I will be there, Albus. I've said all I can to him. I just hope he finds peace in eternity."

"And I echo your sentiment. Nevertheless, I will inform you of the time in case you decide otherwise." Harry nodded. "But, enough of this for now. You've finally made it, my boy! Seven years…seems like forever. I can still remember when you first set foot in the Great Hall…alas, I am rambling. This is a day for the students! Enjoy it! I will see you at breakfast, Harry."

Harry nodded again and the head of the Headmaster wavered and disappeared. As the fire died out, he waved his hand, dispelling the silencing charm and unlocking the doors. As soon as he did so, the door to his room burst open, slamming into the wall with a resounding _bang_, and an irate Ginny strode forth.

"Harry James Potter!" she shrieked. "What is the meaning of this?" She bristled over to him as he stood and glared at him, hands on her hips. He couldn't help but notice her rosy cheeks, heaving chest, and flashing eyes that signified her anger and annoyance, and he smiled.

"Why are you smiling?" she roared, seeming to get more aggravated.

He gently placed his hands on her shoulders. "Gin, Gin…calm down. Dumbledore just wanted to talk about something in private, but the charm wasn't really necessary. I'm sure he wouldn't mind me telling you that Draco died."

She seemed to deflate instantly. "Oh…" She looked at him a little sheepishly. "Sorry," she mumbled. She couldn't say anymore, however, as Harry's lips met hers in a fiery kiss. Her rosy cheeks and rapidly rising and falling chest returned at once, and she met the kiss with as much passion as Harry. There lips moved fervently against each other, and Harry slightly parted his, allowing the passionate redhead in front of him to gently probe with her tongue. Just as he was getting into it, though, he heard the door to Helen's room start to open, and pulled back from the kiss. She smiled at him, breathing quite heavily, and turned to go back into their room. He turned to look at Helen.

She was yawning when he looked, with her eyes closed and her arms stretched well above her head. His face lit up in warm, loving grin and he leapt over to her and swept her up into his arms, earning a surprised squeal and an amused giggle shortly thereafter.

"Daaaaaaaaaddyyy!" she said, swatting his arm that was holding her. "Don't scare me like that!"

He chuckled at her and set her down. "Alright, little lady, I've got to get ready for graduation. Wear something really nice, today, all right?"

She nodded and flashed her grin at him, and returned to her room. He returned to his and searched for his graduation robes some more, but became fed up after a few seconds.

"_Accio graduation robes!"_ he cried, receiving a chuckle from Ginny who had already slipped a gold blouse and a crimson skirt on. There was a chaotic movement in his trunk, and suddenly something crimson and gold shot up into his hands. He unfolded it, stopping for a second to admire the bright Gryffindor colors on the regal robe, and then slipped it over his head. He smoothed the robes over his frame and grinned at Ginny, who took his offered arm in hers and guided him out of the room.

Helen was waiting for them, dressed in a pair of dark slacks and a white blouse; both neatly pressed and sparkling with a little Muggle glitter she had evidently applied. Harry and Ginny both cooed over how cute they thought she looked, and they all exited the suite in search of some breakfast at the Great Hall.

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The Great Hall was alive with the House colors, as all of the seventh years had their graduation robes on already. Most of the younger years had seemingly decided to support their Houses, because many of them wore clothes that matched their Houses' colors. Harry and Ginny sat down, with Helen slipping in between them. Ron and Hermione were already sitting across from them, and they hardly glanced at Harry and Ginny as they sat down.

"So, are you guys looking forward to this?" Harry asked, trying to start a conversation.

Ron grunted in reply and Hermione said, "Yeah, I guess…"

An uncomfortable silence then settled across the table as the five of them began to eat their breakfasts. Harry was painfully aware of it, and he was a little worried too. Today might be the last day the three of them – him, Ron, and Hermione—were together for a few weeks at least, and he didn't really want to be separated from them for so long with things the way they were.

Ginny laid her hand lightly over one of his wrists, and he looked up and met her eyes. She flicked them toward Ron and Hermione and inclined her head slightly. She was imploring him to try to work things out, here and now. He wanted to, but somehow he didn't think they were going to be very receptive of what he had to say. Helen was eating her breakfast and didn't notice the silent drama that was playing out around her.

Harry sighed almost inaudibly. He opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it shut when Hermione stood abruptly. She brushed off her robes and pulled Ron up with her. With barely a look over her shoulder as she turned and walked away, she said, "We'll see you guys at the ceremony."

Harry sat in silence for a moment, aware that Ginny was looking at him but not really in the mood for whatever she had to say at the moment. "Err…right," was all he finally managed to get out. He finally looked at Ginny, who just shook her head a little sadly. Helen looked up at him a little oddly for a moment.

"You all right, Daddy?" She looked at Ginny. "Mum?" Harry was barely able to contain the noise of him sucking in air when he heard that, because he still couldn't get over her calling Ginny 'mum'. It sounded great and he loved it, but he wasn't sure how Ginny felt about it.

She smiled gently at the small girl and said, "Yes Helen, we're fine. Let's finish our breakfast and get out of here." So they did just that. They enjoyed their meal and talked quietly amongst themselves about nothing in particular. Just as they were getting up to leave the Hall, Dumbledore walked over. He was smiling at them.

"Harry, if I might have a word with you?" This was the second time in as many hours he wanted a private word with Harry, and Harry was wondering why he didn't just talk about it during their conversation earlier.

"Um…sure." He looked at Ginny and Helen. "I'll see you guys out there, I guess?" They nodded and Ginny led Helen away, throwing a cursory glance back at Harry before disappearing from the hall.

"Walk with me," the old man said as he motioned toward the doors of the Great Hall. Harry fell into step beside him and looked over with a questioning look on his face.

"What is this about, Albus? Couldn't we have talked about this earlier?"

"We could have, yes, but unfortunately it slipped my mind. I would like to talk to you about Helen."

Harry instantly acquired a guarded look. "Oh?"

Dumbledore smiled at his cautionary tone as they exited the Great Hall into the wide foyer, continuing on toward the doors to the castle. "I was wondering if she had done any magic since she conjured that Phoenix Patronus in the Defense classroom?"

"You know about that?"

"Remus told me about it soon after it occurred, but I was aware of it before that. Hogwarts has a tendency to…reveal…certain things."

"'Reveal', sir?"

"One could say that the castle is alive, Harry. The stones are so saturated with magic that they have almost acquired a mind of their own." They passed out of the large entranceway onto the grounds, and made their way to the stage and chairs that were set up. "Headmasters have written that the castle whispers to them sometimes, and I will attest that that is true."

"I see…but what does this have to do with Helen?"

"The day she arrived, the castle whispered something to me, and I was just wondering if she's done anymore more magic since that day with Remus."

"Wouldn't you know, though, if she did?"

"Most likely…but even _I_ can't tell _everything_ that happens here."

Harry laughed at this, and nodded. "Well, in answer to your original question, yes and no."

Dumbledore looked at him without breaking his stride and quirked an eyebrow.

"You see, sometimes when she wants something done, like a book from her room or to be warmer, or something like that, she does magic to accomplish it." Harry paused. "It's not really Accidental magic…but I don't think it's entirely part of any conscious thought, either. It's only happened a few times, and she doesn't even seem to realize she does it, but it still surprises me."

"Why does it surprise you, Harry?"

"Well, for one thing, she does it without a wand. I know that I can do some wandless magic, but it's certainly not an easy thing, and when I was six I doubt I could have done anything wandless—except accidentally, of course."

"Anything other reasons?" prompted Albus.

"Actually, yes. The power of her spells also catches me off guard. You obviously know of her corporeal Patronus, which was stronger than Hermione's, but, for instance, the other day she summoned a book from her room." The two of them had arrived at the back of the mass of chairs that had been set up, and they were already quickly filling up. There was a raised platform at the front with several chairs of its own on it.

Harry continued as they stopped walking. "She kind of just held up her hand and apparently thought about it, and I guess she just expected it to be there. It wasn't exactly a summoning charm, because it looked like it just appeared there, but I don't think she conjured it, either. The copy of the book was no longer in her room when I went to look."

Dumbledore nodded. "I thought as much, and that is why I wanted to talk to you. You're still planning on starting the training I mentioned on Monday, correct?"

"Of course."

"Then I thought it would be wise to travel to Ollivander's sometime Sunday with Helen and pick up a wand for her. She obviously is a powerful young lady, and I think she might benefit from some of the training you will be getting."

Harry looked shocked for a minute, but then slowly nodded as he realized the truth behind the Headmaster's words. Of course Helen would need a wand—she was at a school for magic and would be for many years. It was the most logical thing to do and she had already showed an amazing propensity at a young age for some advanced forms of magic.

"Alright…that sounds like a plan." He grinned. "I'm sure she will be thrilled to hear it. She always gets slightly goggle-eyed at any large displays of magic, and she talked for two weeks straight about her Patronus."

Dumbledore smiled as well, patting Harry on the shoulder. "I'm sure she will, too. The ceremony is about to begin. Let us take our seats." He began to walk forward toward the stage.

"Albus?"

He stopped and, without turning around, said, "Yes, Harry?"

"What did it say to you?"

"What?"

"The castle, I mean. What did the castle say to you about Helen?"

If Harry saw Dumbledore's face, he would see a knowing smirk. "All in due time, Harry. All in due time." And the old man continued to stride for the stage, leaving Harry with a curious look on his face.

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"First off, I would like to congratulate the class of 1998 for finally making it," McGonagall said from the podium on the stage as the crowd erupted into cheers and applause. Ginny was sitting with her housemates for the ceremony because she couldn't sit with Harry and the rest of the graduating class at the moment.

She listened as the Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration teacher continued with her opening speech, and her eyes strayed to the chairs behind the speaking woman. Dumbledore had asked if Helen would like to accompany him up there during the ceremony and she had agreed; so, she was now sitting on his lap. He was whispering something to her and she silently giggled.

"…certainly was a long and difficult—Albus!" she interrupted herself as she turned around. He gave her a look of serene innocence. "Surely you can keep quiet during this!" Her words were harsh but her tone was light, and the crowd burst into laughter as he gently made a face at her as she turned back around. She arched an eyebrow at them before continuing.

"As I was saying, these past seven years have certainly been a long and difficult…" her voice faded as Ginny's attention waned. She was ecstatic that Harry and the rest of the seventh years were graduating, but her patience for pomp and ceremony was very thin. She looked over the podium at the lake beyond, and watched as the Giant Squid basked in the late June sun. It idly lifted a tentacle and—

She gasped suddenly as pain wracked her chest. Her left hand clutched at it and she bent over herself a bit as it intensified.

"Ginny?" whispered the wide-eyed blond girl next to her.

"I'm fine, Luna," she said through gritted teeth. The pain was already abating, stabbing itself away with every beat of her heart. "Must just be some sort of cramp," she continued, straightening as the last of the pain died away. She looked over at Luna with a reassuring smile.

"You sure you're ok?" the girl asked, for once focusing her vacant eyes on something—Ginny's face.

"Yeah," replied Ginny with a wave of her hand. She took a deep breath. "See?"

"Alright," Luna acquiesced, her eyes unfocused again as she turned to stare at the podium McGonagall was still speaking from.

Ginny returned her attention to the podium as well. "…and now Headmaster Albus Dumbledore," finished McGonagall. She stepped back as Albus stood, placing Helen on his chair, and made his way to the podium. Ginny looked for Harry as he did so, and as she caught sight of him, he seemed to sense her gaze, and turned to her. He smiled at her and then turned back to the podium to hear what Dumbledore had to say.

"I must apologize for my behavior, Minerva," he began. "My mind, in my old age, has finally begun to slip." _Yeah right_, thought Harry,_ you keep saying that, old man. I certainly don't believe you, and I doubt there are many here that do._

"There are only a few things that I wish to say here today, so I will try to avoid boring you all. All of you here, but this class in particular, had to face the task of growing up and adolescence with a war raging around you. When you entered here in the fall of 1991, Voldemort," –he was impressed by how few people flinched— "was just beginning to regain his grip on this world.

"It is with a heavy heart that I say Thomas Riddle was a product of this school, and I wish that more could have been done during his time here, but alas, it does not do to dwell on the past. All of you fine young people who will be walking across this stage today are examples of the everything that is good about Hogwarts and what we try to accomplish here, and I am proud of you all.

"As a group, you have persevered in your studies and have some of the highest OWL and NEWT scores in memory, and you have persevered with each other to try to break the barriers between yourselves. You have worked against the evil that faced this world for so long, and during your fifth year you overcame the difficulties that arrived here at Hogwarts.

"I'm not more proud of any class over another, but I am certainly quite fond of this current one. I have a feeling that many or all of you will leave lasting marks on the wizarding and possibly Muggle worlds before all is said and done, and I couldn't be happier to be the Headmaster of the school that educated you.

"Now, let us get to the diplomas, because you have certainly earned them. Please, everyone, hold your applause until they have all been passed out." He waved his wand, and a table stacked high with parchments appeared by the podium. The seventh years all stood and formed the line as they had been instructed. They waited to receive their _Certificate of Merit and Diploma with Concern to the Education in Magic given by Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_, and strode up and across the stage to shake the hand of the Headmaster when they were called.

"…Harry James Potter…" Most of the audience burst into immediate applause and cheers, evidently forgetting the plea of the Headmaster to wait. He smiled, though, acknowledging that some things are unavoidable. Harry blushed and smiled sheepishly, looking briefly out over the crowd. He hated attention, and he was getting _a lot_ right now.

He shook Dumbledore's hand and grasped the parchment that was his diploma, and started to walk away. Dumbledore stopped him, though, and asked, "Would you be willing to stay up here for a minute?" Harry looked uncertain for a second, but then nodded and moved to where Helen was sitting. She smiled brightly at him and jumped into his arms, and he sat down and positioned her on his lap. He looked over her head at the crowd, missing the warm looks most of the Professors were giving him.

The Headmaster continued to pass out the diplomas, finally reaching the end after another fifteen minutes. He turned back to the audience, and Harry had a good idea of what he was going to say. "Now, I'd like to present Harry Potter, who will say a few words to you all."

_Yup_, thought Harry, with a sinking feeling. He hated the attention even more now, but there was nothing he could do besides smile at the old man waving him up to podium and join him there. He slid Helen off his lap, who smiled at him again in a reassuring sort of way, and moved to the podium. Dumbledore backed away as he approached, and he forced a warm smile to his face as he looked over the podium at the audience before him.

Everyone had gone deathly silent and had expectant and adoring looks on their faces, and he dropped his head for a moment, placing his hands on both edges of the podium. He heaved a deep sigh, and looked up again. He had figured out what he wanted to say.

"I'm honored to be a part of this graduating class and I wish to express my thanks to each and every one of you. The road has been rocky these years—there can be no doubt that—but somehow most of us are here at the end ready for the next stage in our lives.

"I know that most of you think that I am some kind of hero, but to be honest with you I've only done what I had to. I was born into this situation, and if I could have chosen, I probably would have chosen differently. Voldemort was a sadistic, twisted individual and he deserved what he got, but 'what he got' wasn't only because of me. The teachers," he waved his a hand behind him, "the Headmaster," he motioned the to Headmaster who was standing near his right side, "and all of the students," he spread an arm out above, motioning to the audience, "have all had an important role to play in this, and without all of them, I wouldn't have succeeded.

"I know I'm a modest person, but this isn't modesty—it's truth. I may have struck the final blow, but I didn't do it all. We all had a part in ending this war, and I think we _all_ can enjoy the peace we finally have. This war has been around for our entire lives, and it has cost many lives that we must honor, but it's finally over.

"So I'm asking you to not put me on a pedestal, but rather embrace your friends and neighbors, sons and daughters, loved ones, strangers, and enemies and start fresh. We have a whole new world in front of us, and it is because of more than just me. It's because of everyone."

As the words finally stopped cascading from his lips, he noticed that the silence that had been there before had deepened. They had given them their rapt attention, and had absorbed every one of his words. Suddenly, a few of his classmates stood up and started clapping. It spread like wildfire, and soon the entire audience was giving him a thunderous ovation. Dumbledore laughed heartily and clapped him on the back, and Harry couldn't help but smile.

That wasn't exactly the effect that he had intended, but he wasn't going to argue with the several hundred people on their feet in front of him.

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"Hey, mate! That was bloody brilliant!" exclaimed a voice as Harry tried to maneuver through the large crowd in the Great Hall. The seventh years were in the middle of their graduation party, and the sun was just setting outside. Harry had spent most of the afternoon talking to various people, trying to impress upon them that he wasn't the real hero in the war, but it was mostly to no avail.

Finally, he had excused himself from the adults, parents, and teachers, and joined his peers in the Great Hall. Helen was with the Headmaster, from who Harry would pick her up either later that night or the following morning, depending on how long the party lasted. He turned toward the voice that had yelled at him, and saw Seamus grinning at him.

He chuckled at the sandy-haired seventeen year old and said, "Thanks Seamus. But I meant what I said."

"I know, I know." He clapped Harry on the back. "Let's enjoy this party, eh? This is the last night we're going to spend in Hogwarts as students!" Seamus turned away to heartily greet someone else, and Harry headed off toward the refreshments, still chuckling to himself. Suddenly, he was grabbed and spun, and he caught a flash of red hair before lips were pressed again his. There were some wolf whistles, but, for the most part, the revelers didn't notice the kiss.

Ginny leaned back and smirked at Harry. "So, how does it feel?"

"Well, I'm not sure what you're talking about, but if it's that kiss, then it felt—" he started, but was cut off by Ginny slapping his arm.

"No, you prat! I meant, how does it feel to be finished?"

Harry smirked. "I knew that. It feels…bittersweet?" The smirk disappeared. "It's good that this is all finally over, but…some part of me seems to be closing itself off."

"What do you mean?" she asked, a concerned look on her face.

"I'm not sure exactly—it's just not a completely good feeling. Look, just forget it. Let's enjoy the rest of the night." He smiled at her, causing her to smile and nod in return.

"Sure, Professor Potter. Lead the way." He raised an eyebrow at her form of address, but didn't argue, and took her arm in his as he guided her through the crowd to a table. He noticed one that Ron and Hermione were sitting at, and he changed direction to join them. He hadn't had a chance to talk to them since that morning.

They looked up as he and Ginny approached, and Hermione put a small smile on her face. "So," she began, "how does the Boy-Who-Lived feel to be done with school?"

"You know," said Harry light-heartedly as he sat down, "I really wish you wouldn't call me that." Ginny sat next to him.

When Hermione didn't say anything, Harry asked, "So, what are your plans for the summer, you two?"

"Well," Hermione replied, "I think we're both going to stay at the Burrow for most of the summer. Right Ron?"

He nodded, and added, "Yeah, and then we're going for Auror training at the Ministry in the fall."

Harry looked surprised. "Oh really? Both of you?"

Hermione nodded. "Yep. We've both already been accepted."

"So I guess you did better on those NEWTS than you thought, Ron?"

Ron smirked at him. "All of that studying I did with the smartest witch in Hogwarts paid off, apparently."

Hermione smiled lightly before turning to Harry again. "What about you, Harry? What are your plans for the summer?"

"Well, for most of the summer I will be here training with Albus."

It was Hermione's turn to look surprised. "What?"

"He wants to ensure that I can control this power," he motioned to himself, as if doing so would make them see the power. "So he's going to personally train me for most of the summer."

"Ah…I see," said Hermione.

"And next year you're going to teach, right?" intoned Ron.

Harry inclined his head. "That's right. I'll be Ginny's teacher," he said, elbowing her gently in the side of the arm. She mock glared at him.

He laughed and added, "What about you, Gin? We haven't really talked about what you're going to do this summer."

"Well," she said thoughtfully, "I was thinking of asking Albus if I could stay here with you for the summer." Her face saddened. "The Burrow is going to be quiet this summer, without Mum or Dad, and I'd rather stay here with you than feel like the third wheel there." She looked at Ron and Hermione. "No offense to you two, of course."

"None taken," Hermione said. Ron nodded, his own sad look filling his face.

Harry put his arms around her waste and leaned into her, whispering in her ear, "I'm sorry, love. I really am." She smiled lightly and leaned against him, her cheek against his forehead. They stayed like that for a few moments, listening to the music from the dance floor as it cascaded over everyone in the room.

Eventually he leaned back and said, "Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, m'lady?" Harry stood and offered his hand in a mock bow to Ginny, and she grinned at him and took his hand.

"Of course, m'lord. Lead on." He pulled her up into him, and with a glance and a nod from each of them towards Ron and Hermione, they walked toward the dance floor.

It was packed, and the rave music that was playing caused many flailing arms and legs. Harry and Ginny moved to an outer edge and started moving to the beat, the bass pounding through their bodies and encouraging them to get lost in the music. They did just that, and moved against each other in time with it.

The music changed to a slower, mellower tune, and Harry pulled Ginny close, wrapping his arms around her waist as she did the same to him. She leaned her head against his shoulder and they moved in a slow circle as the leisurely melody washed over them. She sighed into his shoulder, extremely content at the moment, and closed her eyes.

Harry turned his head into her hair, and inhaled deep the fresh flowery scent of it. He was tremendously satisfied at the moment, and he wouldn't change it for anything. He felt Ginny tense against him, and he lifted his head to look at her. As he did so, he noticed that her breathing had increased.

Worried now, he lifted her head, and started at what he saw. What little color she had had drained from her face, and she was gritting her teeth together tightly. Her eyes were squinted in pain and were unfocused.

"Ginny?" She didn't answer.

"Ginny!" She didn't answer again. "Come on, snap out of it!" he said, shaking her gently. Several people were looking at them now. A small drop of blood leaked out of her nose and her eyes rolled back into her head. She went limp in his arms.

"_Ginny!_" he cried. This got the interest of even more people, but he paid no attention. All of it was focused on the limp girl in his arms. He could only think of one thing: _I've got to get her help! I've got to get her help!_

There were cries of shock and alarm as Harry suddenly disappeared from the dance floor with the limp form of Ginny in his arms. He had gone to the one place his brain had latched on to for help, and that was St. Mungo's. He had Disapparated from Hogwarts through its many anti-Apparition wards directly into the Emergency Ward of the hospital, through all three of _its_ anti-Apparition wards.

----------

Harry sat on the floor outside of the door to one of the intensive care units at St. Mungo's. His knees were pulled up to his chest, with his arms around them, and his face was resting in them. Chaos had ensued when he'd Apparated in, and the sound of klaxon's ringing through the hospital had informed everyone there'd been a breach in security. It took a few minutes for them to understand what had happened, but once they did, they took Ginny from his arms and immediately started to examine her.

Shortly thereafter, she was moved to the intensive care unit, and he was still waiting for word on what had happened to her. He had been sitting in the hallway for almost two hours, and was waiting on the arrival of her family and friends. The hospital had taken it upon themselves to contact them, and they would be arriving soon. Just as his thoughts were starting to slip into sleep, he heard the rushed patter of feet on the hard tile floor, and he looked up.

Helen was running toward him with a worried expression on her face, and he noticed that there were quite a few people following her. The Weasley children were all there, as were Dumbledore, Hermione, and Luna. Helen crashed into him and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face into it. She let out a noisy sob.

"I-is Mum alri-ight?" she choked out. Harry wrapped his arms around Helen and shifted his position to pull her close to him. She radiated warmth against his body and he pressed her form into his lap. Her arms tightened around his neck, seeking security and reassurance.

"I'm not sure, hun…" he spoke softly into her hair. The lead Weasley—Bill—arrived in front of him just then and looked down with an open question on his face. Harry nodded toward the door and shrugged, telling Bill all he needed to know without any words. The rest of the people stopped near them in the next few seconds, with Dumbledore bringing up the rear.

"Harry," Dumbledore prompted, "what happened?" Helen sniffed against Harry and he rubbed her back gently. He took a deep breath and started to explain.

"We were dancing and she just…went rigid. I tried to get her to talk to me—or focus on me—but she seemed to be lost in pain. A little blood came out of her noise,"—there were a few noises of shock around the room—"and she went limp. I, uh, panicked and Apparated her directly here."

There was a silence as everyone there tried to absorb what he'd just said. Bill gave him a strange look.

"You said you Apparated her directly here?" Harry nodded, still rubbing the back of Helen, trying to soothe her distraught emotions. "Where exactly?"

"Mmm…into the Emergency Ward."

"Really?" Harry nodded once again, wondering what this line of questioning was about. "Damn…I guess I'll have to work on strengthening the wards then…" he trailed off, clearly thinking about what he needed to do.

"What are you talking about, Bill?" Ron asked. He sounded as confused as Harry looked.

"Harry Apparated—out of Hogwarts, mind you—through several wards protecting the hospital." He looked at Harry. "Were there alarms going off when you arrived?"

"Yes, there was this really high-pitched whooping noise. It sounded like one of the Muggle air-raid warnings."

"Then you did go directly through the wards. That is very impressive, but I'm going to have to thank you, because you're quick thinking got my sister here faster than anyone else could have."

Harry shook his head. "I think it was more panic than quick thinking, Bill." He glanced at the door. "I wish they'd tell us something soon." He looked back down and kissed the head of the now quiet Helen, and just fell back into his thoughts as people settled into chairs and on the floor around the door. Helen turned her face up to his and gave him a wan smile, but her eyes were still teary.

"Shh…it's ok, Helen, I'm here for you…" he said and she closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep in the comfort of Harry's arms. Harry felt far from ok, though, but he couldn't let her see that. He needed to be strong for her, even if it felt like his insides were twisting themselves to death from the uncertainty of the situation. Why had she suddenly gone rigid like that, and what was causing her the pain? And the blood…that worried him. He wanted to know what was going on, and he wanted to know now, but he had to wait for the Healers to finish whatever it was they were doing.

Another hour passed by, in which little was said between everyone there, and Harry felt himself drifting off more than once. Each time his head would droop he'd snap it up and look warily around, and see that others were fighting the same condition. It was getting late—past midnight—and they still hadn't heard anything. Then the door to the room opened, and like magic, every single person leapt up, half anticipating-half dreading the news. Harry was careful not to jostle Helen, but he was still on his feet the fastest and confronted the Healer immediately.

"What's going on," he demanded. The Healer gave him what looked like a sad look and motioned around him.

"All of you here need to hear this." He pointed to a sitting area down the hall a bit. He strode off toward it, and everyone was forced to follow. They avoided each other's faces, because they didn't want to see the fear that was surely mirrored on their own. The Healer motioned to all of them to take seats, and they did. They looked at him expectantly as he seemed to brace himself for what he was about to say. _This can't be good…_Harry thought.

"I was never good at this sort of thing," the Healer started, "so I might as well just cut to the chase. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but Ginny has another year to live, at most." It took several seconds for people to absorb this information, but when they did, there were many cries of rage and anguish.

"WHAT?" exploded Ron, Harry, and Dumbledore simultaneously. The others appeared to be too shocked to articulate any of their thoughts.

The Healer cringed a bit at the sudden yelling, but continued on. "Through some diagnostic tests tonight, we were able to determine that she has a terminal degenerative heart disease."

More silence followed. Finally, Harry found his voice, and it sounded a bit dazed. "How…how can you be so _clinical_ about this?"

The Healer looked at Harry sadly for a moment. "It is my job. I'm sorry to be the one to have to tell you all this…"

Ron swallowed loudly and tried talking. It came out as a raspy noise, and he cleared his throat. "How did she get it?" His voice was strained and quiet; he was obviously trying not to break down.

Harry could sympathize with him, because it felt like the world was slowly being sucked away from him and his chest was gradually tightening. Ron had lost both of his parents only six months before, and now this? Harry couldn't help but wonder about how all of this was happening, and why it seemed like no one in his life, including himself, could ever get a break. His throat was tightening and he felt a burning behind his eyes.

The Healer explained. "This type of disease is hereditary, which is a Muggle term meaning that it's passed from parent to child." He paused, and then forged on. "To really understand what I'm going to say next, you need some comprehension of Muggle genetics. Your mother must have given her the trait as well as your father, because it is a recessive one and it is carried on the sex cells. Only female children can suffer from the disease, but some of you," he said as he gestured to the male Weasley children around him, "undoubtedly carry it."

This was a lot to absorb, and everyone was still silent as he finished. Crying could be heard, but Harry didn't dare look up. Instead, he focused on Helen, who was sitting in his lap, and tilted her head up. She looked at him with wide, unbelieving eyes, and then broke into fresh sobs. He had reached his breaking point as well, and his defenses crumbled down around him as he poured his heart out into the tears that were now cascading down his cheeks. She kneeled on his lap and threw her arms around his neck, resting her chin on his shoulder. They cried like that for a little while, forgetting about everyone around them as they poured the sudden grief from themselves. Harry finally looked around him and noticed that there were only a few people left in the lobby. Hermione, Dumbledore, and Luna were sitting in chairs around them.

"W-where'd they go?" he asked in a trembling voice. Dumbledore looked up at him, and Harry was surprised to see the honest grief in the old man's eyes.

"They are visiting with their sister at the moment," was all he said, before he slipped back into his own thoughts.

He was trying to avoid that, but they inevitably came, and a thousand questions came with them. _How could this happen? Why does this crap always happen to my friends and I? She only has a year to live? My Ginny only has a year to live?_ His thoughts kept repeating that sentiment over and over again, and soon his lips were trembling again as he tried to hold back another wave of grief. Helen sniffed into his shoulder and he looked down at her, grief momentarily forgotten. When she looked up, he saw red eyes and raw cheeks from the tears.

He hugged her tightly. "I'm so sorry, Helen. I'm sorry that any of this ever happened. It's all my fault…" he said.

She leaned back and looked at him, studying him with her intense brown eyes. "What is, Daddy?"

Harry made a noncommittal noise and motioned around him. "Everything. This war, all the deaths, what the Death Eaters did to you and the other kids, what's wrong with Ginny, all of it…" he trailed off when she put a finger over his lips.

She shook her head slowly, looking into his eyes. "No, it's not, Daddy. None of this is your fault. I love you so much, Daddy, and I know that you do everything you can to make things better for people. Listen to what the Doctor said—she got it from her parents. It's not your fault." Her lip trembled, and her façade slipped, letting some of her young age through. "I j-just wish that none of this ever happened."

Harry was deeply touched by the profound words of the six-year-old, and he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cool forehead. She kissed his cheek and leaned her own against his, relaxing into her favorite position.

A few minutes later, the Weasley's slowly reentered the small sitting area. Ron, followed by Bill, Charlie, Fred, and then George sat down in chairs. They all looked like they'd been crying, and they looked as tired as Harry felt. No one said anything, so Harry decided that he wanted to see her.

He stood up, tucking Helen securely into his arms, and started down the hall. No one seemed to notice him go. He approached the door with a sense of apprehension; he was unsure of what he would see when he opened the door and how she might react. He pressed a palm against it, took a deep breath, and pushed it open on its silent hinges.

She was lying on her back in the bed, sheets up to her waist, staring at the ceiling. Her cheeks were tear-streaked and her eyes were red. Her hair was a fiery mess underneath her and the hospital gown she wore was slightly disheveled.

She looked over to him as he let himself into the room, and scrunched up her face and turned away from him when she saw him.

"Go away, Harry," she demanded quietly.

Harry set Helen down and walked quickly over to the bed.

"What?" he asked just as quietly.

"I said go away…"

"What do you mean…why…" he asked desperately.

He heard her lose her composure and she started crying again. "I don't want to see you anymore…this just…I don't want to be with you anymore…"

Harry lost it again, and tears slipped from his tired eyes. He reached for Ginny's hand but she pulled it away, and his sobbing became louder. "Ginny? But, I don't understand? I love you…Ginny…" he choked out. She started to cry harder, still turned away from him.

"How can you, Harry? How can you after this? How can you love someone that's going to DIE SOON?" she asked, her voice rising at the last part and ending near a scream. She was near hysterics, as was Harry, and he slid onto the bed with her and pulled her into an embrace. She resisted momentarily, but soon pressed her back against his heaving chest. He could hear Helen crying near the door, but his focus was on Ginny.

"How could you say that, Ginny? You know I love you. Why would that be any different now?" He said into her hair. His tears were abating, leaving a raw feeling, and he needed it to stop. It was eating him up, and if it swallowed him he wouldn't be able to get up and live on anymore.

"You mean everything to me, Ginny. You think I'd just abandon you now? We're in this together. I will never leave you. I love you too much…if you want me to, I'll marry you to prove it."

She had stopped shuddering in his arms, and now slowly turned over to face him. She searched his eyes for a moment, reminding him eerily of the look Helen had given him earlier, and then leaned in to a tight embrace with him.

She spoke into his chest: "Oh, Harry…I'm so sorry…this is just…overwhelming. One minute I'm dancing with you, the next they're telling me I'm not going to live another year. I just don't know if I can deal with this."

He rubbed her back, trying to soothe her, but he knew that he couldn't possibly know what she was feeling at the moment. "You will, and I will help you. I'll be here for you, always and forever. Whatever you need, I'm here for you. This is just another curve life has thrown us—Merlin knows we've had plenty already—and we'll work through this with each other."

"Why are you so good to me, Harry? What did I do to deserve this?"

"Being you. Simply being you, Ginny."

"I love you, Harry."

"I love you, too."

She looked up into his face, her features suddenly set into a hard resolve. "I will not let this get me down. If I have another year, then we need to make the most out of it. We can't let this stop us from doing what we want."

Harry was a little taken aback at her sudden change in attitude, but understood where it was coming from. He nodded, and said, "Of course. And the first thing we can do is this…" he trailed off as he took both of her hands in his, and looked her directly in the eyes. "Ginevra Molly Weasley, will you marry me?"

She choked a bit and tried to compose herself, but then flung herself against him. Her voice came out muffled as she replied, "Of course, Harry!"

"I know I don't have a ring right now…but we'll have to fix that soon enough." Suddenly the bed shifted, and Harry and Ginny looked up to see what it was. Helen had climbed on the end of the bed and was looking at them with sadness and apprehension.

"Oh, Helen…come here," Ginny said, as she disentangled herself from Harry and rolled away a bit, holding out her open arms for Helen. Helen basically dove into her embrace, and Harry watched as the two of them sobbed into each other's arms. He wanted to join them, but he was cried out.

He waited until they quieted down and then asked, "You're ok with that, right Helen?"

She turned her face to him with large, inquiring eyes. "With what, Daddy?"

"Well…with her becoming your mum…for real."

She squealed, "Yes!" and threw herself at Harry. Ginny moved over a bit, and the three of them laid in her bed reveling in the closeness, temporarily forgetting their worries and the news Fate has just bestowed upon them.

----------

It was a little past two in the morning when Harry finally stumbled from the room, leaving Helen and Ginny sleeping behind him. He rubbed his eyes wearily, trying to comprehend all that had happened in the past few hours. Ginny was going to die…and he had just proposed to her. The first caused him a deep, hollow sadness, and the second caused a resounding bliss. The emotions combined to create a strange apathy, and he shuffled into the sitting area with an expressionless face.

The only one who was still awake was Dumbledore, and he was sitting in his chair by the window, his chin in his hands. He wasn't really looking at anything, but Harry could almost hear the wheels working away in his brain. He went over to sit by the old man.

When Harry plopped soundlessly into the chair, Dumbledore looked up and forced a grim smile to his face. Harry nodded and looked out the window.

"Harry…"

Harry looked back at Dumbledore. "Sir?"

The Headmaster sighed. "I just want you to know that I'm here for you, if you ever need to talk."

Harry echoed the sigh. "Why me, Albus? Why does all of this have to happen to me? It just seems like…none can escape me with their life…I feel like nothing I did before accomplished anything."

Dumbledore cleared his throat, refocusing Harry's suddenly vacant gaze. "Listen to me, Harry. I don't want to ever hear that again. All right? What you and your friends did ensured the safety of millions—billions, even—of people. Never say that it was all for nothing, because that is a huge lie."

Harry turned to look out the window once again. "The war is over, but…I still feel like I'm just existing. My whole life was about Voldemort and defeating him. Well, I finally did that, and I thought that my life finally might be normal, and that I could be with the woman I love for the rest of it, but then this has to happen." His voice broke, but he controlled it. "I've never really _lived_, Albus, and it feels like I don't have anything to live for anymore. My task is finished and the rest of my life is too. I'm just tired…so tired…"

Dumbledore listened to him, forcing back the tears that he knew were in his eyes. Harry was so wise yet so innocent, and he had seen and faced so much in his young life. He was the person who _least_ deserved all of this, yet it continued after him day after day.

"What did you and her talk about in there, Harry?" he asked quietly.

Not looking away from the glass, Harry replied, "I proposed to her. She said she wanted to live her life to the fullest, and I thought that was the first step."

"She is very wise then, Harry, and so are you. You have to try to accept this—I don't pretend to know how you're feeling or what you're thinking right now—but you should try to live your life with her to the fullest for as long as you two can."

Harry looked down at his lap. "Why, though, Albus? What's the point anymore?"

"Harry, look at me." Harry continued to look at his lap. "_Look at me_." Harry looked up, his green eyes tinged with a profound sadness. "You love her, yes?" Harry nodded. "You would spend the rest of your life and hers with her, right?" Harry nodded again. "So _do that_. Live for the moment, Harry, because you and her need to get the most out of what you have."

Harry looked away, thinking about what Dumbledore was saying. It made sense, but nothing else did to him anymore. "We'll see…"

"No, Harry. Not 'we'll see'. You promised her when you were in there that you would live out the rest of her days in happiness, experiencing the joy of love and life for as long as both of you can. You said you just proposed to her, well, that's excellent!" He paused for a moment, working something out in his head. "Hmm…yes, it could be a Hogwarts' wedding; we could have it at the beginning of August. She can stay at the castle this summer if you and her want that."

Harry had refocused on the Headmaster once again. Was he hearing all of this correctly? "You'd…you'd let her?"

Dumbledore nodded and smiled. "Of course. I'm sure she will want to continue with school for her seventh year, so you and her could live at the castle as husband and wife if you so choose."

Harry swallowed, working his dry throat, and said, "But why? Why are you allowing all of this?"

"Because I care about you, Harry, and Ginny as well. You were always the grandson I never had, and if Ginny's going to be a part of your family, she deserves a place in my heart as well. Helen already has one, and she will be overjoyed I'm sure at getting a real mother."

"Yeah, one she's going to lose…" Harry muttered, bitterly.

"Harry, you _can't_ think like that. Think of Ginny! You have to be strong for her. The bitterer you become, the harder she is going to be on herself, and you and her can't afford that. You both need to focus on the joys in life and go for them all. Just live; let it all out and just _live_."

Harry sighed and nodded slowly, unable to refute the wisdom of the old man's words. He forced a small smile to his face.

"I'm assuming you still wish to begin training on Monday?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry was still for a moment; a pensive look was on his face. "Yes, I need to learn more about these powers and control them better, for Ginny and Helen, and for everyone else."

"All right. The Healer said that Ginny would be able to leave Sunday evening. She apparently has to take a potion every morning to help with any pain she might have, but otherwise she will have little interaction with any Healers. Why don't you and Helen make a trip to Diagon Alley during the afternoon on Sunday and then pick Ginny up when you're done. Bring her to the school and settle in for the summer."

Harry nodded, his eyes sliding away to look out of the dark window. Dumbledore rested a hand on Harry's knee for a moment and then stood.

"By the way, the ceremony for Draco will be at 9 pm Sunday night."

"I won't be there, Albus."

Dumbledore nodded. "Very well. I must be getting back to the school. I shall see you soon." Harry tilted his head in acknowledgement and continued to stare out the window. Sighing internally, Dumbledore walked to the Apparition point and left St. Mungo's.

Harry was trying to not let the bitterness wash over him, but it was hard. The hollowness had to be filled by something, and it was either bitterness or indifference at the moment. He finally chose indifference, and leaned back against the chair and closed his eyes. Sleep came quickly.


	11. A Whirlwind of Feeling

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: Ok, I'm going to clear some things up. This is _not_ a 'Super Harry' story. His 'new powers' or 'transformations' – whatever you want to call them – are just an extension and release of his natural magical reserves. In following with that theme, Harry will not be receiving huge amounts of new toys and awesome powers. He will _not_ be an animagus, because I see that particular attribute as irrelevant at this point. Harry is trying to figure himself out, and the story is more about his damaged psyche than his power. With that said, yes, he is powerful, and yes, he can do some amazing things.**

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Chapter 11: A Whirlwind of Feeling

"Alright, Miss Potter. Here you are," Ollivander said, handing the wand over to the small girl. She could barely contain herself as she took it and admired it proudly, and looked up to Harry with thankful eyes.

He smiled down at her, thanking Ollivander, and then led her from the shop. As soon as the door closed behind them, he knelt down in front of her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye.

"Helen, you know how much of a privilege this is, right?" She nodded. "You can't use the wand outside of Hogwarts, all right? I'm not sure just how many regulations Dumbledore violated when he allowed you to get this, but I'm trusting you to respect that and not abuse it." She nodded again.

Harry smiled. "Now that the 'stern' part is over with, how excited are you?"

Her face lit up. "This is awesome! I can't believe it!" She struggled with her words, because she was just so excited. She was literally bouncing on the balls of her feet, turning the 10-inch holly wand over and over in her hands as she studied it.

Harry laughed and stood, watching her admiring her new tool. It had a dragon heartstring core, and looked impressive because it was so new. Harry kept his wand impeccably clean, but the glossy coat was starting to fade. Helen's wand reflected the light like Harry remembered his did during his first year.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and guided her along. His other hand absentmindedly went into his pocket and fumbled with a small box. The smile slowly faded as the events of the past few days came back to him. His hand tightened around the box, and his face set in a hard line. Ginny had said they would live for the moment, and that was exactly what he planned to do.

Harry and Helen stopped briefly at a few more shops in Diagon Alley and picked up a few odds and ends, and then Harry announced that it was time to head to St. Mungo's. Helen's perpetual smile—because of her wand—faded slightly and her eyes saddened. She didn't stop fumbling with the wood in her hand, though, and Harry was glad that she had something to take her mind off the pain that was undoubtedly there. They walked up the steps to the hospital and entered.

Harry barely had to acknowledge the staff before they allowed him passage through the corridors, and was thankful that his celebrity status was at least good for something. They finally arrived in the outpatient area, and Harry was directed to a room down the hall. Taking a deep breath, he strode toward the door with Helen trailing behind.

He stood at the threshold for a moment, staring at the wall of wood, before raising his hand to knock on the cold, impersonal surface.

"Who is it?" came the voice of Ginny.

"Harry," he said, quietly.

"Well, don't just stand there, come in," came the amused reply. Harry couldn't help but smile, and also marvel that Ginny could still be sarcastic.

Harry pushed open the door and saw that Ginny was ready to go. She was dressed in her own clothes and was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring idly at nothing particular. She turned her gaze to meet his, and smiled warmly in greeting. He smiled back and crossed the room quickly, enveloping her in a tight embrace.

They stood like that for a moment, before Harry stepped back, and motioned Helen over. She still had her wand in her hand, which Ginny looked at curiously as she came to them.

"What's that?" she asked.

Harry smiled. "Apparently Albus thought it would be prudent for Helen to join the ranks of the magical." At Ginny's confused look, he added, "That's her wand. We just picked it up."

A look of comprehension came over Ginny, and she exclaimed, "Oh! That's wonderful Helen!"

The little girl's excitement came back full force, and she squealed, "I know! I get to practice magic with you and Harry over the summer!"

Ginny gave Harry a look. "Over the summer? Does that mean…" she trailed off as Harry nodded.

"Yep. You can stay at the castle with me this summer. Albus doesn't have a problem with it, and he said that besides himself and the house-elves, we'll be the only ones there."

Ginny laughed. "So we have the whole castle to ourselves for a few months. That's great." The three of them lapsed into a comfortable silence for a moment. Helen was inspecting her wand with a renewed vigor, Ginny was looking contemplatively at nothing in particular, and Harry was looking back and forth between the two girls.

Finally, he spoke. "Alright, well I think we should be getting along. Did you need anything from the Burrow, Ginny?"

She shook her head. "Nah. I bring most of what I have to Hogwarts with me, and I'd rather not have to set foot there again…"

Harry nodded in understanding, realizing that returning to the place her parents were killed would be hard, especially with the news they all had just received.

"What about the potions?" Harry asked, quietly.

She gave him an unreadable look for a moment, and then said, "They shrunk the supply and I have it in my pocket."

Harry inclined his head. "Ok then, I'll just Apparate all of us to Hogsmeade." The three of them started to move toward the door and the Apparition point beyond.

"You can do that?" Ginny asked. She knew he had Apparated with one other before, but didn't know that he could bring two others with him.

Harry smiled a little mischievously. "Do you trust me?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You know you're not supposed to answer a question with a question, right?"

Harry laughed outright at that as they continued down the hall. "I think that's what you just did, Ginny."

Ginny looked stricken for a moment, and slapped her forehead. "Damn it…" All three of them had smiles on their faces, and they soon arrived at the exit point.

"Grab my arms—hold tight—and we can get out of here." Ginny latched onto Harry's left arm and Helen likewise did the opposite, and with a brief moment of concentration from Harry, all three were whisked away.

For a brief moment, Harry felt like he was being torn in two different directions and thought he had somehow splinched himself, but then realized it was because Ginny and Helen had falling away from him while still holding onto his arms. He tensed his muscles and stopped their fall, balancing their counterweights. They both gave him a look of gratitude as they straightened up, and the three of them made their way toward the castle.

Smalltalk was passed between them during the short trip, and Harry couldn't help but think that the real topic of conversation was hanging over them like a stagnant bog. He would have to talk to Ginny later, because if they really were going to get through this, and make the most of it, then denial wasn't something they could afford.

The doors opened as they approached, and they could see that Dumbledore was waiting for them there. He had a bright smile on his face and beckoned them into the castle.

"Welcome for the summer, you three. How did the shopping go, Harry?"

"Holly; 10 inches; dragon heartstring. It was only the fifth wand she tried."

Dumbledore nodded in approval and beamed at the already beaming little girl. "Very good, Helen. Very good, indeed. While you are at Hogwarts, feel free to use the wand, but just remember to be careful."

Her head bobbed up and down and breathlessly she said, "Oh, I will be, Professor Dumbledore! I don't really know much, anyways."

"Well, what do you know?" he asked, with a twinkle in his eyes. Her head snapped up and there was fiery glint in her eyes, and she raised her wand.

"_Expecto Patronum!_" she cried, and was rewarded when the silvery mist came forth and formed the Phoenix. It soared around the entrance hall for a moment, and then came back and settled on the floor between the four of them. Harry was smiling proudly, Dumbledore actually seemed somewhat surprised, and Ginny was staring in wonder. The shape faded.

"Wh-what?" Ginny asked. Somehow she had never really believed the story of the defense class. She had never even created a corporeal Patronus before.

"It is most impressive," Dumbledore said. Helen smiled sheepishly but Harry could tell she was soaking up the praise.

"Yeah…" Ginny said, and suddenly pulled out her own wand. It had been awhile since she'd tried the charm…

"_Expecto Patronum!_" she yelled. And sure enough, her own silvery mist that quickly formed a shape rewarded her efforts. It blurred for a moment and started to fade, but then strengthened at Ginny's look of determination. Harry tried to see what it was…and laughed when he did. It was a cat!

It stalked around the four of them for a few moments, stopping to peer up at Ginny, and then faded. Ginny had a look of satisfaction on her face.

"Was that the first time you conjured a corporeal Patronus?" Dumbledore asked.

Ginny nodded. "Yes, it was."

"And what, if I may ask, was the memory you chose to back the spell up?" he further inquired of her.

Ginny turned beet red at that question and stuttered over some answer. Dumbledore's twinkle went into overdrive, and he chuckled at her response. There could only be a few memories that would produce that type of response.

With a knowing look at a somewhat confused Harry, he said, "Well, I must be off. Eight o'clock tomorrow morning, Harry?" Harry nodded. "Ginny and Helen are welcome to come as well. Cheers." Dumbledore strode off, still chuckling to himself.

Helen, who was more confused than Harry, asked, "What was that all about, Mum?" The red color had faded, but it returned again.

Ginny laughed nervously. "Nothing, Helen. Don't worry about it. Albus was just teasing us."

Harry finally understood what had just happened, and unexpectedly burst out laughing. Helen looked at him like he was crazy and Ginny glared at him.

Through his mirth, he asked, "Do I even have to ask what the memory was of?" Ginny playfully hit him on the arm and smirked at him. Helen still had no idea what was going on, and was getting huffy.

"Do you want to find out later?" Ginny asked Harry. He stopped laughing immediately and peered at her. It was Ginny's turned to laugh, and Helen spoke up.

"What is going on?" she asked in annoyance. Her wand was still in her hand, and it emitted blue and bronze sparks as she yelled the question. She was shocked and dropped the wand in fright, and looked to Harry with slightly fearful eyes.

"Umm…I didn't mean to…that wasn't what I was…" but she stopped when Harry knelt and picked up her wand. He placed it in her hand and looked in her apprehensive eyes with his reassuring ones.

"It's alright, Helen. That's nothing to worry about. Wands tend to do that, especially at first. There's nothing wrong that." He stood and picked her up, trying to comfort her. She nodded at him and let herself relax, glad that she hadn't done anything wrong. Harry thought there was something oddly familiar about the colors that had come from her wand, but couldn't place it. Mentally shrugging, he put an arm around Ginny's waist and the three of them started toward their quarters.

----------

Closing the door to Helen's room, Harry turned to Ginny. "She's all set for the night. I think she was asleep before I got to the door."

"Well, she had an exciting day. She's a lucky girl to have a wand already."

"Indeed," Harry replied. He settled onto the couch and leaned into Ginny, who curled her arms around his waist and leaned her head on his shoulder. Harry started to stroke her hair, and they sat in companionable silence for a few moments.

"Ginny…" Harry started. He stopped, though, as he seemed to struggle with what he wanted to say.

She looked up into his face. "Mmm?" It was more a noise than any sort of articulation. She looked like she was about ready to go to bed.

He sighed a deep, almost strangled sound, and ran a hand through his hair. He looked distractedly at nothing in particular for a moment, and then settled his emerald gaze back on Ginny.

"It's just…I can't help but feel like we're avoiding…the issue," he said.

"What _issue_?" Ginny asked, a little acidly.

Harry grunted in frustration, more at himself and his lack enunciation than her. "That's my point; right there, what you said. You know what _issue_ I'm talking about."

Ginny was silent for a moment, but Harry could tell that she was struggling to keep her Weasley temper in check. Finally, she blew her breath out between her lips and seemed to get control.

"I thought we were going to live and just let it all go?" Her voice was much quieter than he was expecting.

"I know—that's what I want to do. But that doesn't mean we can avoid this altogether Ginny. It just seems…surreal right now, you know?"

She nodded. "I know…I can't believe that, well…I'm going t-to d-die," she choked out. Tears welled up in her eyes and she was almost immediately shuddering into Harry's arms. She had been in denial, and Harry's calling out of it had brought the realization to the front of her mind. Previously, she had distanced herself from it and kept it impersonal, but talking about it so candidly with Harry hit home.

He wrapped his arms tightly around her, and pulled her so she was almost lying on him. He leaned back against the crook of the couch and slowly rocked her a little bit. She quieted down after a little while and wiped her eyes, giving Harry a wan smile.

"I'm sorry—" but a long finger to her lips cut her off. Harry just shook his head gently.

"You have nothing to be sorry for—_absolutely_ nothing. I…I don't pretend to know what you're thinking, faced with this…realization, but believe me when I tell you I have looked Death in the face before.

"It's not pleasant…knowing or believing that your life is going to end, but I took solace in something that Albus once told me. 'Death is but the next great adventure.' He called it an extension of life, and it shouldn't be separated from it. It's hard for me to even talk about this like this, but I think I can because I _know_ that someone or something better than this is waiting for us."

Harry took a deep breath, and looked at Ginny directly in her brown eyes. "Death is always such a taboo, but I think if we're going to make this work the way we both want it to, we can't be afraid to talk about it, or cry about it, or scream about it. The thing we can't do is deny it, because that will only make it harder in the end." Harry was inwardly surprised at his speech, because that came out even better than he had wanted it to. He just hoped that Ginny would or could see what he was trying to say.

She closed her eyes and collected herself, leaning her cheek against her chest. She opened her eyes and focused on the coffee table as she spoke. "I understand the point you're trying to make, Harry, but it's just so easy to slip into denial. You may have faced death many times before, but the _certainty_ of it has never been there.

"We all knew the risks when we went to face Voldemort that day, but it wasn't a definitive chance of the end of our lives. This…this is different…I've been _told_ that my life—which I can't even comprehend; life is just such a huge and aloof term—is going to end. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. With Voldemort…it didn't seem real…there was always the possibility but our mortality was never placed in front of us like this.

"It's taking everything I have to not slip into a huge pit of self-pity and just end it right now. This is hard, and it's only going to get harder and harder as time goes on. Why did they have to tell me? Why? I would have been much better off not knowing." She was about ready to cry again.

Harry gently took her face in his hands, cheeks in palms, and turned her head so she was looking at him once again. He spoke softly: "No, it wouldn't have been, Ginny. Believe me, I was so angry at everything when I knew the Prophecy predicting my death or Voldemort's had been kept from me for years. If you had found out a different way…well, there's no coming out of that.

"And, I'll be here for you, always. No matter what, I want you to know that you should never hesitate to talk to me about anything. Just like we're doing right now—we're talking things through and hopefully making it just a little bit easier. And know that I'll _always_ love you." He leaned down and captured her pouting lips in gentle and lingering kiss. It wasn't about passion; rather, it was about him imparting his love for her.

Harry leaned back and stared into her eyes again for a moment. Finally he spoke up. "There's something that I've been thinking about telling you…that I've never told anyone before…" Ginny gave him an inquisitive look.

Harry took a deep breath. "At the end of my fourth year, when I was portkeyed away to that graveyard, there were a few moments that I've never told anyone about. It was just too…profound, I guess, to try and make people understand what I felt. But, I think you will be able to."

He paused, took another deep breath, and forged on. "After Voldemort told me to pick up my wand, I was scared absolutely out of my mind. I couldn't believe that the legend of the wizarding world was really standing in front of me, and that he was going to kill me.

"I did the only thing that my panicked brain could think of: I dove out of sight behind a large gravestone. Green lights kept flying over my head, and Voldemort was taunting me, but I couldn't bring myself out to face him. Finally, he said, 'Come on, Potter—The Boy Who Lived. Come out and let me prove once and for all how lies have fed your legend. Come out and face me as I kill you.'

"I couldn't explain it then, but something—some feeling—came over me and the fear just melted away. If that was how I was going to die, then I couldn't let it be hiding behind a rock. I knew that if that point in time was the end, I had to stare it in the face. Maybe it was the Gryffindor in me coming out, but something possessed me to roll out from behind the tomb and cast the disarming spell.

"Even with the _Priori Incantantem_ effect going on, I couldn't really take my mind off that feeling. It was like, even though I knew what was probably going to happen, I was almost wrong to deny it and hide like a coward. They say your life flashes before your eyes, and it is true. I couldn't let all those people down…"

He then leaned forward and whispered something to her that hit her to the core. "Ginny, you have to either get busy livin', or get busy dyin'."

When he pulled back, she bit her lip and looked into his eyes once again. She had a pensive look, and it was an endearing image. "Why are you so good to me?"

Harry smiled softly. "You asked me that on Friday. The answer isn't any different this time. I love you."

Ginny's response was to wriggle around for a moment to get more comfortable, wrap her arms under Harry, and press her cheek against his chest again. She took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled through her nose.

"Alright…starting tomorrow…we do it."

Harry whipped his head from the drooping state it had suddenly acquired. Had he heard correctly? "Come again?"

She chuckled, realizing what she'd said. It was a genuine laugh, deep and breathy, and Harry was glad to hear it. "Oh…oops…I meant that we do what we said. We live for the moment. We take advantage of the time we have left—we get busy livin'."

_Well, no time like the present, _Harry thought. Considering he'd already done it once, albeit informally, he shouldn't be this nervous. But for some reason, he was. He gently disentangled himself and sat Ginny up. She gave him a questioning look, but he ignored it as he got into a kneeling position in front of her on the floor. He took a small box out of his pocket, looked at it for a moment, and took a deep breath. He opened it and extracted the small golden loop, and then looked up into Ginny's eyes.

"I know I've asked this before, but I thought it should be proper. Ginevra Molly Weasley, will you marry me?"

She bit her lip again to keep it from trembling and just nodded. He took her slim ring finger in his hand and gently slid the band onto it. It was a perfect fit. She made a small noise of satisfaction and pulled them both into a standing position, wrapping her arms around him. They gently rocked in each other's arms for a few minutes, oblivious to everything but their partner.

----------

When Ginny, Harry, and Helen entered the Great Hall the next morning, Dumbledore was the only person present. He was sitting at a much smaller staff table and, otherwise, the hall was empty. It seemed much larger than normal, but that was simply because all of the house tables had been removed, leaving only open space. Their footfalls echoed around the room as they approached the Head Table.

Dumbledore watched them approach with a smile. "How are you three this morning?"

As they took their seats and started helping themselves to the wonderful breakfast before them, Harry said, "We're doing good; the castle is so empty and quiet—it's kind of unsettling."

"Yes, yes it is. I've found that the summer is the best time explore the secrets Hogwarts has to offer, though."

"Secrets?" Helen asked. She looked up from her waffles with interest.

"Well, my dear, there is just so much to this castle, and it always seems like something has changed when you least expect it."

She nodded slowly, taking in what the wise Headmaster was telling her. The four of them ate in amicable silence for a few minutes, but finally Ginny spoke up with a question that she had been meaning to ask.

"Um…I was wondering if I could join in the training?" Two heads—Dumbledore's and Harry's—turned toward her sharply and Helen was simply giving her an appraising look. The scrutiny from the three of them was quite unsettling.

"Ginny…" Harry started, but stopped when he saw a fierce determination in her gaze. She wouldn't be swayed, regardless of concerns for her health. And, if the night before was any indication, then he shouldn't try to stop her. If she wanted to live to the fullest, then this would be one of the ways in which she could.

Harry looked at Dumbledore, trying to tell him that with his eyes. Dumbledore gave him a hard look for a moment, and then looked at Ginny once again. His features softened. "If that is what you want, Ginny, then I see no reason to stop you." She smiled.

"Keep in mind, though, that some of the things that Harry and I will be doing are beyond your reach." She nodded but her smile didn't dim.

"Oh, I never had a doubt about that—I just…want to let loose a little with my magic…you know, see what I can do."

Harry smirked at her. "You know you're very powerful, Ginny."

"Yeah, I know, I just want to have a bit of fun."

"And you shall. But remember, Harry needs to take this seriously," intoned Dumbledore. Ginny nodded in acceptance, a small smile still playing on her face.

"Of course, Albus. I want to see what _Harry's_ capable of, too," she said.

"Me too!" added Helen.

Harry blushed a tiny bit, and then smiled cheekily at the two of them. "What is this? My fan club?"

Dumbledore chuckled and almost choked on some sausage, and Ginny and Helen just glared at him. Helen promptly stuck out her tongue out Harry, and Ginny smirked and did the same. Harry just put his face in his palm for a second and then turned to Dumbledore.

"So, what are we going to be starting with today?" he asked the old man.

Instead of answering him directly, though, he turned to all of them. "Are we all satisfied?" They nodded, and the food disappeared. "Alright then, why don't we get more comfortable?" Dumbledore stood, and the other three mirrored his motion.

He produced his wand from the folds of robe and waved it in the direction of the middle of the Hall. Two comfortable looking couches and coffee table appeared there, and Dumbledore looked satisfied.

"Shall we?" he asked, motioning toward the furniture.

The four walked to the couches; Ginny, Helen, and Harry sat on one of them and Dumbledore sat across from them. Dumbledore gave them an appraising look.

"Today I thought it would be most appropriate to just talk about a few things and let them sink in. Tomorrow we can start with the real training."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Talk about what?"

"There are a few…important points that have only recently come to my attention," Dumbledore started. As he talked, he slowly settled into the couch, clearly ready for a long discussion.

"Firstly, I was wondering what you know about the founding of Hogwarts?"

Harry thought for a moment before replying. "I've never actually read _Hogwarts, A History_, but I think I've had most of it recited to me," he said, as a brief pained look came across his face as he thought about the state of his relationship with Ron and Hermione. "I believe that it was started nearly a millennia ago, and the four Founders—Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin—were the most powerful wizards of the age." Ginny and Helen were silent, because they were both curious to see where this conversation was headed.

"While that is correct, it is only partially so," Dumbledore said. He didn't say anything further, and appeared to be lost in his own thoughts.

Harry prompted him. "Oh?"

Dumbledore's gaze refocused, and he smiled apologetically. "Oh, sorry. Anyways, Hogwarts was indeed founded almost a millennia ago; in fact, it was actually1300 years ago from the year 2000."

Ginny spoke up. "But I thought it was founded in 1015—at least that's what _Hogwarts, A History_ says."

"Well, that is something, isn't it?" There was a weird, knowing smile on the Headmaster's face. "As for the other matter, of the four Founders, it is true that they were the most powerful wizards of the time. However, what isn't generally recorded in the history books is that there were two other wizards that belonged to that group."

Harry quickly made a connection in his head. "Well…if Hogwarts was truly founded in 700 then…wouldn't that make Merlin one of them as well?"

"Correct, Harry, and I'm glad you are catching on so quickly."

"But who's the sixth?" piped up Helen. Her inquisitive nature got the best of her, and she just had to ask.

"I was wondering when you'd ask a question, Helen," the old man said. He gave her a grandfatherly smile and then said, "The sixth was someone who is believed to be a legend by basically all magical and Muggle people alike. It is only the people who know the _true_ history of the world that know of his real existence."

"But…what could possibly have caused them to…alter history?" Ginny asked.

"I assume you've all heard of Morgan le Fay, or simply Morgana?"

Harry and Helen nodded, but Ginny simply looked confused.

"Who?"

"It is said that she was Merlin's nemesis when he was considered to be the most powerful wizard of the age, much like a Dark Lord would be today. However," he continued, cutting off the question on Ginny's lips, "that is, again, only partially true.

"Morgana did in fact exist, but she wasn't as powerful or as evil as the legends make her out to be. They created that image of her because they don't know of the real reason, because it has been basically erased from history."

Harry was quite confused. Erased from history? What could possibly have happened for something to be erased from history? "What do you mean?" he asked.

"There was originally six Founders of Hogwarts, and in turn, the modern wizarding world, which I know is completely contrary to what you've been told your entire lives, but it's true. There are only a few left who know of the truth, and I believe you have the right to know."

"Ok…" Harry said.

"Anyways," the Headmaster continued, "the six Founders of Hogwarts were Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Merlin, and the sixth. This is where Morgana comes in."

"She was the sixth? But I thought you said 'he'?" Helen asked. Again, her curiosity got the best of her.

Dumbledore shook his head, though. "No, my dear, she was not, but she was related to the sixth. I have a question to ask of you three: what does the name 'Lucifer' mean to you?"

Ginny and Helen both had blank looks, but Harry had a small amount of recognition on his face. "Hmmm…" he mused, "I know I've heard that name before." He thought about it some more, before snapping his fingers. "Ah! Now I remember. The Dursley's went to church every weekend, and I remember hearing that name once. If I remember correctly, he was…err, the one who betrayed their god?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Quite the memory you have there, Harry. Lucifer is indeed the traitor archangel in their religion, sentenced for eternity to guard the version of Hell they believe in. He coveted their god's things and Heaven itself, so their god thought it would be a suitable punishment to look on the paradise of Heaven for eternity from a burning wasteland."

"Do you believe any of that?" Harry asked. He personally held absolutely no belief in that sort of thing, and he was actually rather surprised that Dumbledore knew so much about it.

"I do not believe either way. It does not concern me, and it is beside the point. The word 'Lucifer' is Latin for Light-Bringer, which as you can see is quite contrary to the religious traditions. Setting aside all religion for a moment, there was in fact a Lucifer here on Earth. He was the—"

"—sixth Founder," Helen finished for him. She was getting excited over all of this new information and couldn't contain herself.

"Helen, don't interrupt him," Harry said. Her face fell and she leaned back pouting.

Dumbledore chuckled, saying, "No, no; it's quite alright, Harry. I'm glad she is so curious. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Alright," Harry smiled. Helen brightened once again.

"So, yes, he was the mysterious the sixth Founder, and the husband of Morgana."

"What happened, Albus? Why does no one know any of this?"

Dumbledore's face darkened. "Well, now we are getting to the heart of the matter. When Hogwarts was started, in 700 AD, the six Founders were allied in the Light and worked together to bring the wizarding world together. They succeeded for many years and it was probably one of the best times in history, but alas, such times cannot last.

"It is ironic that the name Lucifer means Light-Bringer, and I suppose fitting, because it is he who did the exact opposite. You see; Lucifer was the weakest of the six, with Merlin being the most powerful—followed closely by Godric and Rowena—and was loathed to be in that position. His fault was his greediness, and he felt that he had the right to be most the powerful, simply because of the connotations of his name.

"Over the years following the founding of Hogwarts, he delved into dangerous and deadly magics that hadn't been practiced for hundreds of years. He did this simply for power, because he wanted to be able to prove himself to Merlin that he could hold up in the duel with the powerful man. The magics he studied are commonly referred to as the Dark Arts today.

"In 725—a quarter century after the beginning of Hogwarts—Lucifer decided that he finally had enough knowledge and experience to at least be a challenge to Merlin. Now, Harry, all six of them knew of the powers that we can both use—you know, the auras—but in a silent agreement between the six of them they rarely showed the ability. They felt it was unnecessary and were content to use their 'regular' magic."

Harry nodded, understanding. Dumbledore talked on. "Lucifer approached Merlin and called him out in friendly duel, and in perhaps the greatest mistake of his life, Merlin didn't take it seriously. Behind Lucifer's back, he flaunted to the other four that he would play with Lucifer, to prove that he was the most powerful. If Lucifer's fault was greed, Merlin's was arrogance. He knew he was the most powerful, and liked to remind people of it.

"So, on the prearranged day, Lucifer and Merlin met, and the four others came to watch. The duel was evenly matched for a while, but it was apparent that while Lucifer was unleashing his full power on Merlin, the other wizard was holding back. In truth, Merlin was probably surprised at some of the spells that Lucifer was using, but chose to just stay on the defensive. In his arrogance, though, he taunted Lucifer, probably insulting his power and his lineage.

"That did it: the hate was so powerful in that moment for Lucifer, because of his greed and need to be the best, that he went through the transformation—and came out with an all black aura."

Harry sucked in his breath, and Ginny and Helen looked at him. They didn't know as much as he did about his powers, and were unclear as to why the 'black aura' was such a bad thing. Harry just mouthed 'I'll tell you later' and turned his attention back to Dumbledore.

"I see you have not forgotten what I've told you," he said. "Merlin was so surprised that he was quickly overcome and killed. It happened so fast that even Lucifer did not realize it at first, but he came to realize that he could not hold remorse or guilt for what he'd done. The hate had consumed him, and he was stuck with it for the rest of his life. The four others had watched in complete shock as it had occurred, but then were forced to defend themselves as Lucifer lashed out against them. His hatred, which was fueled by his greed, was overwhelming, and the four of them were losing. Even in their altered states, he was more powerful and unrelenting than they could handle.

"It is then that Godric was taken over by the injustice of it all—their world they had so carefully been building was going to come crashing down; his friends and himself were going to perish by whom they once considered their friend; Merlin, their friend and ultimately who they looked up to had been killed. He was overwhelmed with remorse, pity, and righteous anger. He went through a further transformation and was soon enveloped in a white aura."

"_He_ got the white aura?" Harry asked. He had always somehow expected it to be Merlin who had done it.

"Yes, he did, and he quickly overwhelmed and subdued Lucifer, but unfortunately the rampaging wizard would not relent, so Godric was forced to kill his former friend. He did it only after getting the consent of Rowena, Salazar, and Helga. He never was ok with it, but had to give up the guilt eventually because he knew that nothing else could have been done."

"But _why_ does no one know about all of this?" Ginny asked. Helen nodded because she was wondering the same thing. Nothing she had ever read had even hinted of it.

"The four Founders who were left decided that it would be best if people did not know about it. Not only would they question the intentions of Lucifer with Hogwarts and then ultimately the four of them, but they would also wonder how Lucifer had killed Merlin. Rather than dealing with that, they decided to instigate the largest and most comprehensive cover-up in the history of the world.

"For many years, while still running Hogwarts, their main goal was altering everything to fit their own version of history. This included mass memory charms, planting artifacts, and changing the official records and destroying the others. That is how the legends came to be—memory charms are rarely one hundred percent effective and with so many people with the vague ideas, an oral tradition was born and hence the legends."

"But how do you know of all this, Albus?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Ah, now we are finally getting to the real point of all of this." He smiled.

"Do you know how cryptic you always are?" Harry chided him.

Dumbledore simply laughed. "You can't blame an old man for his ramblings, Harry." After another pause, he said, "But anyways, the reason I know of the real truth is because of provisions the Founders set aside. They all wrote private histories of themselves, their world, and their families, and secured them so that only members of their direct line would be able to read them."

Helen's eyes lit up. "So…that means you're related to one of the Founders!" It was more of a question that a statement.

"It's got to be Godric, then," Harry stated.

Dumbledore merely smiled at them. "Well, Helen is correct, but Harry, you are not."

"Surely not Salazar?" Harry asked.

"No, no, of course not…after all, I'm not a Parseltongue. No…it is actually Merlin that I'm directly related to."

There was a silence for a moment, and then Ginny simply queried, "Really?"

"Yes, really. Tell me, do any of you happen to know Merlin's last name?"

They all shook their heads. They had never heard of Merlin referred to as anything other than just 'Merlin'.

"I thought as much. Well, I'm sure you wouldn't be surprised now to learn that his full name was Merlin Wulfric Dumbledore—Wulfric is one of my middle names, as well."

"So…what does this mean, exactly?" Harry questioned. He wondered what this was all about.

"Hmm?" was all that Dumbledore replied.

"I meant, why are you telling us this? We aren't the descendants of any of the Founders, so we shouldn't know, right?"

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled more brightly than ever. "Well, Harry, you are only partially correct. Tell me," he said, barely containing a grin, "what did the Sorting Hat give you in the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Ummm…Godric's sword."

"Yes. The sword of Godric Gryffindor, which he charmed to be able to be held only by a direct descendant."

Comprehension and shock played across his face. "But…that's impossible! I'm a Potter, and I know that I come from a long line of Potter's."

"Yes, I know, but what you don't know is that Godric only had one child, and that child was a girl. She married a man by the name of Brian James Potter, who was a member of a prominent family. The name Gryffindor died off when Godric himself died, but his blood has been carried through the Potter line all this time, and you are his last direct descendant."

Harry was a little overwhelmed at the moment, and he could only think of one thing to ask. "Ok…but why are you telling me this now?"

"Finally, we have come to the point of all of this. Before the unfortunate series of events with Lucifer, the six Founders came together and created a sort of binding spell. It would be broken if one of them ever betrayed the others, which happened of course, but there was one aspect of the spell that could never be broken."

"And what was that?"

Dumbledore broke into a full grin, and brokered his wand from his robes. He held it out before him.

"This, Harry: _Increpitas Inflecto Forma Veres!_" The incantation was unlike anything the three of them had ever heard, but that thought was soon forgotten when they looked in utter shock at what the spell had done.

Dumbledore's wand had _changed_—for lack of a better word—and the thing was incredible. It had changed into a long, beautiful broadsword. The handle was intricately carved in silver and had some strange runic markings, and the blade was a shiny chrome or platinum color. It looked razor sharp and reflected the light in a dazzling prismatic array of colors, and they could do nothing but stare at the weapon. It was beautiful, but it also looked deadly. There was also the hint of what appeared to be silver flames licking at the cold metal of the blade.

"Wha…" Harry managed to breath out.

Dumbledore nodded, fully expecting their shock. 'This is the part of the binding spell that can never be broken. The six of them were tired of wands and thought that something more…intimidating would suit them, and thus permanently transformed their wands into six swords. The swords act as a magical focus, much like wands do.

"They tied each sword to their blood and the magic it carried with it, and through the years the knowledge of this little feature slowly diminished until now, in which I'm probably the last to know about it. Not anymore, though," he said, smiling cheekily at Harry.

"How long have you known about all of this?" Harry asked after another moment of silence. Ginny and Helen were still admiring the sword.

"For many years now…since before Tom Riddle first came to Hogwarts," Dumbledore said carefully.

Harry's anger flared up briefly because that was just more power that Dumbledore had not used against Voldemort, but he quickly pushed it away. He didn't want to get angry right now, and he was trying to put it behind him. _The past is the past_, he told himself, _and I'll just have to accept these decisions of his…_

"I see…" was all Harry finally said. A question came to him suddenly. "How has it been hidden for so long?"

"That, Harry, is the product of a rather ingenious feature of their charm. They recognized that it might be prudent to hide their swords from certain people, and devised a failsafe mechanism in the charm that would allow the sword to revert back to the wand form if they ever desired or it if was ever taken out of their hands. So, all of these years, I've simply had it in the form of my wand when in the presence of prying eyes."

"How many others know about this?" Ginny asked.

"Besides you three? No one."

"Why are telling you us this, Professor Dumbledore?" Helen asked. She was confused, and she didn't like to be that way.

In answer to her question, he looked pointedly at Harry. "Harry…surely you have figured it out? Hold out your wand—point it away from everyone—and repeat the incantation I just said."

Harry looked at him skeptically for a moment, and then complied. It couldn't hurt, and he supposed that if all of what Dumbledore said was true, this was the way to prove if he really was of Godric's bloodline. He raised his wand and pointed it up into the air.

"_Increpitas Inflecto Forma Veres!_" he said. And sure enough, to his amazement, he felt his wand grow heavier and watched as it transformed into something familiar. Ginny gasped and Helen squealed in excitement.

"Just as I thought, Harry. So do you recognize that?" Dumbledore asked.

"Well…yes, but it's a little different," he said as he looked over the sword that was now in his hands. The handle was made of a crimson colored metal that Harry did not recognize as well as what appeared to be pure gold. It had similar markings to the sword that Dumbledore had laid across his lap, and as his eyes traveled up the sword, he took in the biggest difference.

The metal was no longer gray like it had been in the Chamber of Secrets; the blade, which was long, sharp and slightly curved, was an amalgam of the crimson metal and gold. Harry knew that gold was a very soft metal, so he assumed that the crimson metal tempered that trait. There was also the faintest hint of flames of the two colors lightly running over the shiny surface of the cutting edge.

"Yes, it is. I assume that the Sorting Hat produced an echo of it, since it is imbued with some of the powers of the Founders, after all."

Harry looked at Dumbledore. "So silver was Merlin's color, Albus?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Correct. I believe that is what is known as Crusader sword, which is similar to a long sword."

"What's yours called?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore grinned again. "The type of sword, or the name?"

Harry blinked. "Huh?"

"Well, the _type_ of sword this is would be a broadsword. The name, on the other hand, refers to the actual name of the sword. Each of the six gave their blades names, which is tied to their true power. All you have to do is say the name, and you awaken the power in the blade—say it again, and the sword comes back to its more dormant state."

"Oh." Harry's head was swimming with the new information.

"_Omnipotens_!" Dumbledore suddenly cried. The sword, which he raised again, flashed a brilliant silver color. When the spots in their eyes had faded, they could see that the previously faint silver flames had exploded and now engulfed the blade of the sword completely. It was quite the sight.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Omnipotent?"

"I did say that Merlin was arrogant, didn't I?"

Harry grinned. "Yeah, I suppose you did."

"That's so cool…" Helen breathed. The platinum flames that were dancing over the sword mesmerized her.

"I'll say," Ginny agreed. She then looked expectantly at Harry and raised her own eyebrow.

"What?" he asked.

"Well, what's the name of your sword?"

Harry looked to Dumbledore. "Do you know it?"

Dumbledore inclined his head, and muttered the name of his sword again. The flames died off and were as before, which was barely noticeable. "The name of your sword is _Animus_."

Harry laughed lightly. "I suppose that's applicable, being Godric's sword and all."

"What does that mean?" Helen asked.

"It's Latin for 'strength of mind and soul'."

"Oh," she said, understanding.

"Alright; here goes." He held the sword away from himself and the others again. "_Animus_!" There was a crimson and gold flash, and the flames had increased into the same consuming fire that had had happened with Dumbledore's blade. It was actually a rather remarkable sight—beautiful but deadly. The four of them admired it for a few moments, and then Harry said the name again. The flames returned to their former state.

"It didn't feel any different," Harry said.

"Well, of course not. You didn't cast any spells. You'd have to do so before and after you said the name to really get a feel for how different it is."

"Daddy?" Helen asked.

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Does that mean you can use it when you transform?" Helen had learned of Harry's talents at the beginning of May, and he had done his best to explain it all to her. She understood most of it, and he was glad. Of course, though, it would be her to ask the most relevant questions pertaining to this new twist. Harry looked to Dumbledore for the answer to the question.

"How astute of you, Helen. I was just getting there, in fact. The answer to your question is yes, he can and should use it when he transforms. The six of them built their increased powers into the charm and made the swords to focus them better. It's better than using his wand, and certainly better than the wandless magic he performed during our duel."

"How do I change it back to my wand? I don't really want to carry around a sword all the time."

"Simply say _Reverto_." As Dumbledore said it, the sword shrank and transfigured itself back into his wand.

Harry followed suit, and watched as his sword also reverted back into the familiar shape of his wand. Harry looked at it pensively for a moment, before Dumbledore broke his train of thoughts.

"I know this is a lot to take in, so that is why I think that we're done for the day. The real training will start tomorrow, so take the rest of the day to absorb and think all that's been said here."

Harry had another question, though. "Do you have any of Godric's things that I could look through?"

"Yes, I do as a matter of fact, but we shall save that for another day, as well." Harry nodded and looked over at Ginny and Helen. Ginny looked like she was trying to internalize all of the new info, and Helen just had silly grin on her face.

"What are you so happy about, Helen?" Harry asked, smiling himself.

She bounced and did a little jig in her seat, saying, "This is all so cool! You're so powerful, Daddy!" She leaned in and wrapped herself around one of his arms, and beamed up him. He laughed—it was a warm, genuine sound—and smiled back at her.

"Don't forget about yourself, young lady! You're six and you have a corporeal Patronus. I think you could give me a run for my money."

She playfully hit his arm. "Uh uh!" And then she suddenly acquired a new look in her eyes. It seemed to be a look of longing. She jumped from the couch and almost landed on the coffee table, but managed to stand upright.

"Can I try that spell? That would be so awesome!" she yelled to anyone who would listen. Harry, Dumbledore, and Ginny immediately shared a look.

"I'm sorry Helen, but I don't think it will do anything…" Harry said. He watched as her face crumbled from the joy she had been feeling. He hated seeing that.

Ginny leaned over to Harry. "I think she just wants to say the incantation," she whispered to him. Harry nodded and turned back to Helen.

"Actually, Helen," he started, watching her turn hopeful eyes to him, "I don't think it can hurt anything. Go for it!"

She grinned again. "Ok!" She set herself in an almost comical posture and held her new wand out before her. She stood stock still for a moment, and then opened her mouth.

"_Increpitas Inflecto Forma Veres!_" Harry, Ginny, and, to a lesser extent, Dumbledore stared in shock at what they saw. Helen squeaked in alarm as she felt her wand grow heavier and almost dropped it as she watched it change with completely bewildered eyes. She had just wanted to hear the Latin phrase come from her own lips, and wasn't ready for what she was seeing.

Her wand had become a modestly sized scimitar. The handle was blue and bronze, with more of the runic markings, and the blade was tantalizing mixture of some blue metal and pure bronze. Blue and bronze flames were dimly moving over the metal. She looked to Harry wide eyes, and then Dumbledore, and finally back to Harry.

Suddenly, Dumbledore started laughing. Harry had never heard him laugh like that. It was a deep, rumbling sound, and it could only be taken as honest and uncontrollable mirth. He laughed so hard and so long that tears were soon running down his cheeks, and when he finally stopped, he noticed that the three others were looking at him like he had finally lost his remaining marbles.

"Oh…oh…I'm sorry…it's just…it seems that Helen continues to surprise us."

"But…but…what does this mean?" spluttered Harry.

Dumbledore gave him an odd look. "I should think that would be obvious, Harry. It appears that Helen is a direct descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw." The scimitar clattered to the floor, reverting back to the form of her wand, followed closely by Helen. She had fainted.

----------

"…would explain her corporeal Patronus," someone sounding like Harry said. Helen was still groggy and a bit lightheaded, so she didn't sit up. Instead, she remained where she was, which felt like lying on the couch, and just listened with her eyes closed.

A voice that was further away responded. It sounded like Dumbledore. "Yes it would. I'm very curious as to what else she can accomplish at her young age."

They were talking about her, and they thought she was still asleep. She knew that she should probably make them aware that she had woken up, but her curiosity was piqued and she wanted to listen to what they had to say.

"Did you have any idea that she was of Rowena's bloodline?" That was Harry again.

"No, Harry, I did not. I should have realized it though, because of what the castle told me when she first arrived."

"Ah, so we're back to this. I wondering when you were going to reveal that."

"Honestly, there's not much to reveal. It's just how it was said. When you arrived for your first year, the castle told me that a huge magical presence had arrived. Over the years, I took that to mean that it was talking about you, because you obviously have the most magical power out of anyone here, and I'm pretty sure it coincided with the exact moment you entered the Great Hall."

"So…it said that again when Helen got here?" Dumbledore must have nodded, because Harry continued on. "It said she was a huge magical presence?"

"Yes. And I'm inclined to believe it," the Headmaster said with what sounded like a small smile. The inflection in his voice was light.

"Well, there's no reason not to, after that little display. Ginny just thought she wanted to say the incantation. Do you think she had any idea that would happen?"

"I doubt it, Harry. Look at the way she reacted. I think it was just as much of a surprise to her as it was to us. The choice of sword is interesting, though. I never would have assumed Rowena would use a scimitar."

"What's the name of her blade?" Harry asked.

"_Fervens_. It means 'fiery', and I assume it's referring to her personality."

Harry chuckled. "Oh, you have no idea. She's a little ball of energy." Helen had to suppress a smile to keep up the illusion of sleep.

"You've really grown to care for her, haven't you?"

"I have. I really have. I love her like I would a daughter."

"I know; I can see it every day. You do wonders for each other."

"Indeed we do, Albus, indeed we do."

There was a long pause following that, and all that Helen could hear was the breathing of the two men. Where was Ginny? She was about to open her eyes to signify her awakened state, but stopped when Dumbledore spoke up.

"How is Ginny holding up, Harry?"

Harry let out a long sigh. "Well…it's been rough on her, understandably. We're trying to just let loose and live, but it's hard. We'll manage, though. She's a strong woman. She's faced death before, and I have no doubt she will again with her head held high."

Another silence. Then Dumbledore spoke again. "What about you? How are _you_ holding up?"

"I'm ok. I don't think it's hit me yet. And I don't know if I ever want it to. I mean, I _know_ what this means, but knowing and accepting are two very different things."

"I'm sorry, Harry…"

"For what, Albus? None of this is your fault—it's no one's fault. It's just…unfair. Completely unfair. To Ginny, to me, and to Helen. Not to mention her brothers, who have already lost their parents…"

Dumbledore sighed this time. "The Weasley's didn't deserve any of this. They supported you and I from the start, regardless of our differences with each other and them. Their family has been through quite a bit."

There was a movement of the cushions, and Helen assumed that Harry has stood up by the sound of it.

"Well, it's getting late. I think I'll put Helen to bed for the night. She should be lucid in the morning. Ginny will be wondering where I am, so I better go."

"Alright Harry. I know this is a lot of new information for one day, but I think as the summer goes on it will get better. Eight o'clock tomorrow?"

"Sounds good, and I'm sure it will. Goodnight, Albus."

"Night, Harry." Helen felt Harry gently pick her and cradle her in his arms, and a small sigh of contentment escaped her lips. She pretended to snuggle into him in her sleep, and let her mind drift. She would assimilate all of the new information the next day; for now, her brain was just too foggy. As she felt the warm blankets of her bed envelop her and the cool moisture of Harry's kiss on her forehead, her lips twitched into a smile and she drifted off to sleep.


	12. Training Daze

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: This story carries a mature rating, folks…if sex scenes bother you, well, then…oops. Enjoy!**

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Chapter 12: Training Daze

Dumbledore looked up as the doors to the Great Hall opened. Harry and Helen walked through the doors, perhaps a touch sleepily, but otherwise looking ready for the day ahead. Helen had recovered nicely from her meeting with the floor, and was smiling brightly at Harry. He was looking down at her, returning the smile, and talking to her quietly. It must have been something funny, because Helen laughed out loud and shook her head. Harry was amused at her antics and his smiled broadened, and they both looked up to see Dumbledore watching them.

"Good morning, Albus," Harry called.

"Hello, Professor," Helen said.

As they both sat down at the small staff table, Dumbledore replied, "And a good morning to you both, as well. It appears that you are recovered from yesterday, Helen?"

She smiled sheepishly and nodded her head. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that…" but she trailed off when Harry gave her a stern look.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to be sorry? It was a quite a shock, you know, and we don't blame you for reacting like that."

"Very true," Dumbledore agreed.

She bobbed her head. "I know; I didn't want to scare you guys. That was pretty cool, though."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Indeed it was, Helen. I'm curious, however. Do you know if both of your parents were magical?"

A slight frown passed over her face, but it quickly passed. She shook her head sadly. "I don't really know much about them. They didn't tell me anything at the Orphanage except that they were killed in a magical accident." She started to pick at her food, and didn't lift her eyes. Harry slipped an arm over her shoulder and looked at Dumbledore mournfully.

"Well, I can promise you, Helen, that I will look into it for you," the Headmaster told her. She looked up with slightly hopeful eyes. "I'm not promising too much, but I will tell you that I will find out as much as I can."

She smiled at him. "Thank you! You're so great, Professor!"

Harry snorted and the corner of his mouth lifted into a half-smile. Dumbledore lifted an eyebrow at him. "Yes, Harry? Is there something about what Helen said that you don't agree with?" A smirk of his own was playing on Dumbledore's face.

Harry raised his hands in mock indignation. "I resent the implications of that, Albus. You know perfectly well that Helen here can never be wrong." He turned to Helen, who looked somewhat confused. "Right, Helen?"

She thought about it for a moment and then just shrugged. "You guys are weird," she said, and then promptly stuffed half a muffin into her mouth. Harry and Dumbledore laughed and then attacked their own breakfasts. They passed more friendly banter as they ate for a while longer, but Dumbledore suddenly looked around and then looked at Harry.

"Is Ginny feeling well, Harry?" he asked, showing concern on his face.

Harry nodded, swallowing a piece of bacon. "Yeah; she said wasn't hungry and decided that today would be a good day to start planning the wedding and getting invitations ready. I told her we could work on it later together, but she insisted." Harry shrugged.

"Daddy?" Helen asked tentatively. Her voice was small and quiet.

Harry looked over and gave her a questioning look, sensing that something was wrong. "What's the matter, honey?"

She bit her bottom lip, in a look that was oddly reminiscent of Hermione. Harry pushed those thoughts away and focused on the little girl in front of him. "Well…it's just…is Mummy really going to die?"

Harry's grip on the side of the table tightened, and soon the knuckles in his hand were white. He hadn't expected to ask her such a direct question like that so soon, and he didn't really have any comforting answers. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Dumbledore was watching this with interest, but also that he made no move to interfere.

He sighed. "Helen…I don't think there's an easy way to say this…"

"Just tell me, Daddy. I'm a big girl, and I know I can take it." Her voice belied her reasoning, though, because it was quavering madly.

Harry reached over and pulled her into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her possessively and rested his chin on the top of her head. They had both forgotten that Dumbledore was sitting across from them, and were totally focused on each other. Helen curled her arms around the ones that were going around her, and rested in Harry's grasp.

"I know you're a big girl, Helen, but I know the type of pain this causes. I think I owe it to you be honest, though, so I'm going to be. I'm sorry, and I know she is too—beyond words—but yes, Mum is going to die." Her lip trembled and a solitary tear slipped from and eye, but Harry could tell that she was successfully struggling to get her emotions under control.

"I'm sorry, Helen…" he said, rocking her a little.

She was silent for a moment, but then spoke up. "Why are you sorry, Daddy? It's not your fault. You and Mummy really like each other, so I think you two should just be happy with what you have!" She looked up and smiled at him, and climbed back to her chair when he unwrapped his arms. He glanced at Dumbledore, who was looking at Helen with pride. It wasn't a stretch for Harry to figure out why, and it also wasn't very hard for him to figure out that she was indeed the heir of Rowena. Wisdom like that at such a young age was rare.

Dumbledore shook himself and said, "So, are we all done?" Harry and Helen both indicated so, and with a wave of his hand, the food was gone. Dumbledore produced a parchment of paper and laid it on the table.

"Alright then. Today we will begin a regimen of training that will continue throughout the rest of the summer. As long as this isn't too much of a problem with you, Harry, I'd like to focus on this six days a week, leaving Sundays completely for yourselves." Harry just nodded—besides training and being with Ginny and Helen, he didn't really have much to do this summer. He wasn't really looking forward to meeting Ron and Hermione at the moment, because he had no idea what he would say to them.

Dumbledore looked at Helen. "You can join Harry for much of this, Helen, if you want to, but it won't be nearly as intensive as what he'll be doing. I'm very curious as to your magical capabilities, but I don't want to even come close to pushing your limits. You're still a young, growing girl after all."

Helen's face lit up as Dumbledore was talking. "Really? Yes! I really want to do magic!" Harry chuckled. She looked over at him and poked him in the arm. "And you, Daddy—I want to see what you can do!"

"Jeez, I hope I don't disappoint now! So many expectations…" he said, but he was smiling and his voice was full of laughter.

Dumbledore picked up the parchment and handed it to Harry. "I've made up a tentative schedule that we can follow for the rest of the summer if you don't see any problems with it."

Harry looked at the sheet. The schedule looked like:

_**Morning**_

**Physical Endurance**

**Mental Skill**

**Magical Strength**

_**Early Afternoon**_

**Physical Strength**

**Mental Endurance**

**Magical Skill**

_**Late Afternoon / Evening**_

**Physical Skill**

**Mental Strength**

**Magical Endurance**

Harry looked up. "What does this mean exactly?"

Dumbledore elaborated. "Well, while a Hogwarts education is well-rounded, there are certain shortcomings to it. One of the reasons for this is that most of the time we are teaching people so young and they can't handle harder tasks, but another reason for it is that the Board of Governors doesn't see a need to teach endurance and strength too much.

"I've always believed that being physically and mentally fit produces better magical responses and at faster times than when unconditioned, so I think that the majority of your training will be honing your body and your mind to be able to cope with the immense magical capabilities that you possess.

"The endurance in the three areas is just that—working you so you can go longer without tiring in those areas. The strength refers to the power of your spells, your physical power, and also the power of you mind. The 'skill' area is where any actual teaching I will do will take place."

It all made sense to Harry, and he didn't really have any questions. He actually intended to have fun this summer, and he wanted to do so by pushing his limits. Dumbledore's training looked to be very intensive, and he had no complaints. Helen nodded, so she didn't have any questions either.

"Then we shouldn't waste any more time. The first thing is physical endurance, so let's get started. For the rest of the summer, the physical endurance will consist of running. Let's say…about a half hour for now, and you can increase the length or speed as you see fit."

Harry nodded and quickly transfigured his clothes into more suitable running attire, and stood up. He stopped and looked at Helen, though. "What do you want to do Helen?"

"I want to run, too!" she exclaimed. Harry looked at Dumbledore, shrugging.

"Well, alright…but I think you should only do a lap or two around the grounds for now. Ok, Helen?" Dumbledore said. She nodded, and Harry transfigured her clothes into running attire as well.

"Are you coming outside, Albus?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore shook his head. "No…I'm much too old to be running." He laughed at the thought. "Meet me back in here when you're done." Harry nodded and turned, guiding Helen away with him. She waved at Dumbledore and smiled briefly before turning away completely and walking by Harry's side.

They made their way from the Great Hall and exited the castle, immediately enjoying the calming warmth of the morning sun. Harry looked at Helen for a moment, and she looked back, and then she took off at a trot. He smirked to himself for a moment, and then followed her. They ran side by side; Harry was jogging, stretching his legs out as he did so, and he kept stealing glances at Helen as they went. She had a big grin on her face, which was slightly turned toward the sun, and her easy gait was surprisingly fluid.

They stopped near the edge of the Forbidden Forest for a few moments to stretch out their unconditioned muscles, and then continued on. They didn't talk, but no conversation was necessary. There was something comforting about participating in the exercise in the company of another person, especially because they were very familiar and easy with each other. After a lap around the grounds, Helen was huffing a bit; she gave a Harry a look, and then stopped. He glanced back as he continued on, seeing that she was using the stone steps into the school to stretch again.

Harry continued on for three more laps around the grounds, running for a total of about a half hour, and was pretty winded when he stopped next to Helen. She grinned at him as he stretched his muscles in the same manner she had, and then they both entered the castle.

"So, how was it?" Harry asked.

Helen nodded, almost to herself, before saying, "I liked it. I definitely think I'll be out there with you every day."

Harry felt a warm glow and smiled broadly, and then swept Helen into his arms. She laughed and her face lit up in a warm smile of her own as Harry settled her into his arms. She looked directly into his eyes.

"Daddy?"

Harry stopped, captivated by her gaze. "Yeah, hun?"

"What would have happened to me if we never met?"

Harry's eyes went cloudy for a moment, before clearing and refocusing on hers. "I'm not sure, Helen."

Her face fell a bit. "Oh…"

"But you know what?"

She glanced back at his eyes. "What?"

"I don't want to imagine my life without you, so I'm eternally grateful I made that choice to go to the Orphanage that night."

Her eyes widened a tiny bit. "Really?" she asked, a bit timidly.

Harry nodded. "Really." She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, like she was wont to do.

"Thank you," she whispered. He patted her back and carried her into the Great Hall, where Dumbledore was waiting for them. He looked up and smiled at the duo.

"Everything all right?" he asked.

"Oh yes," Harry said, and Helen twisted around and flashed a smile at Dumbledore. "Definitely," she said.

"Alright then, did you both enjoy your run?" They nodded. "Shall we proceed?" They nodded again.

"During the 'Mental Skill' portion of our activities, we will be doing two things. The first is general instruction in magic, with the goal of broadening your knowledge of spells, counters, and curses that can be used." Dumbledore looked thoughtful for a moment, and the conjured a book. The title read _Standard Book of Spells, Year One_. "I think, for now, Helen can use this to increase her own knowledge and magical capabilities. As for the second thing, Harry, I will be teaching you to improve and advance your Legilimency and Occlumency."

Neither Harry nor Helen had any complaints, so they dove into their work. Helen started in on Chapter One of her new book, practicing the spells as she came to them. She was an awfully quick learner, and mastered _Wingardium Leviosa_ in about the time it took Hermione to do so. Harry and Dumbledore worked from much more advanced books, and occasionally the Great Hall would light up with some spell or another as they practiced. As Harry learned new spells and new uses of existing ones, Dumbledore also told him how they might useful in a duel – he wasn't the only one Voldemort had ever feared for nothing. His knowledge and practical skills in magic were formidable, and Harry very vividly remembered the hair on the back of his neck standing up from the power of the man's simple stunner in the Ministry of Magic.

They eventually switched over to Legilimency and Occlumency, and Dumbledore called Helen over so she could get a feel for the rather imprecise branch of magic. She wouldn't be doing any in the near future, but it couldn't hurt for her to know what it was and begin to build basic Occlumency shields.

"Well, if we are this productive all summer long, I daresay Helen might be as skilled as a second year by the time her seventh birthday rolls around. And you, Harry, will undoubtedly give me a run for my money in a formal duel—one _without_ the use of our extended magical capabilities." The both remembered the stalemate of their last duel, and the disaster that almost occurred with the shields protecting the spectators, and they weren't in a hurry to repeat it. But, if the time came, they would pit themselves against each other and see just who really was the most powerful wizard since Merlin.

Harry chuckled. "We'll see, Albus…" He looked to Helen. "So, what did you learn?"

Her eyes lit up, and she brandished her wand as she looked around for an object to use it on. She spotted a chair at the staff table, and raised her wand toward it. With a swish and a flick, she said, "_Wingardium Leviosa!_" and the chair jumped about ten feet in the air.

Harry grinned. "Very nice, Helen. A lot of power, I see…and Hermione would be proud of you for the correct pronunciation." She gave him an odd look, not knowing the story behind what he said, but he was lost in his own musings about Hermione. He kind of missed her…

Shaking his head, he cocked it to the side for a moment as she lowered the chair back to the ground. Pulling out his wand, he pointed it at the chair, said the incantation, and swished and flicked as he did so. The chair shot up and hovered halfway between the floor and the ceiling. He lowered the chair quickly and pointed his wand again, intoning the incantation, but without the swish and flick. The chair shot up to the same height as the first time.

Dumbledore and Helen were both watching him curiously—the Headmaster with a knowing look and Helen with a curious one—as he set it up a third time. This time he swished and flicked, but did not say the incantation out loud. The chair shot up again. Lowering it, he did it once more, this time without an incantation or a wand movement—the chair behaved exactly as it had the three previous times.

Harry gave Dumbledore an odd look. "Those wand movements really are meaningless, aren't they?"

Dumbledore smiled and nodded his head for a moment, and said, "Indeed they are, Harry. They merely help young people focus on their intent, which is really what the driving force behind spells is. For instance, Helen, if you would be so kind as to try that again, but this time without the swish and flick?"

She looked thoughtful as she nodded, absorbing the byplay between Harry and the Headmaster, and raised her wand. She incanted the spell, without the wand movement, and watched proudly as the chair shot up to the same height as the first time she did the spell. She lowered it back to the ground and looked to the two men.

"Very good, Helen," Dumbledore started, "but, this time try it without the incantation or the wand movement."

Her brow furrowed for a moment, and then she nodded and turned back to face the chair. She raised her wand and held it steady for a moment. The lines on her forehead became more and more pronounced, her nose crinkled up, and her wand started vibrating a bit as her hand shook minutely.

Dumbledore opened his mouth to tell her to stop, but promptly shut it when the chair flew into the air… higher…and higher…until it crashed violently into the ceiling. Helen started and stared at the falling pieces, and winced as a rather large piece hit the floor and shattered.

"Err…oops?" she meekly asked. Harry and Dumbledore, however, broke into laughter, which immediately allayed her fears, and she smiled in return.

"Well, I was going to ask you to stop, but I see you have found your intent," Dumbledore stated.

Harry nodded his head and pointed his wand at the pieces of the chair. "_Reparo_," he muttered, and the pieces flew back together.

"So, what does it all mean?" Helen looked inquisitively to both Harry and Dumbledore.

"Simply put, my dear, wand movements and incantations are unnecessary, but are often helpful for younger wizards and witches to focus their magic. Silent and motionless magic is very hard to accomplish regularly, but as you have just seen, once accomplished, it can be powerful.

"That was a nice segue into what we're going to be doing next, which is focusing on magical strength." Dumbledore turned, pointed his wand at a far corner of the room, focused for a moment, and watched satisfactorily as a large, thick metal wall appeared out of thin air. He pointed to it, looking at Harry and Helen.

"That wall is made of solid titanium, and it will be instrumental in what I want to show you. First thing's first: we will be using a blasting hex today, of which the incantation is _Bombarda_. As we have just discussed, the incantation is not completely necessary, but if you have never cast the spell before, it will help you focus it." Harry and Helen both nodded. "Alright, for our first casting, we will be using our wands."

Dumbledore raised his wand and, shortly after, a large teal orb shot forth, speeding across the Hall and slamming into the wall. There was a small dent where it hit. He looked to Harry and nodded. Harry raised his wand and incanted the Latin—he was unfamiliar with the spell—and watched as his own teal globe smashed the wall, leaving another small dent. Helen didn't need any prompting, and incanted her own blasting hex, which also left a bit of a dent.

Dumbledore smirked briefly, and then said, "_Increpitas Inflecto Forma Veres_." The familiar platinum broadsword flashed into view, and Harry and Helen couldn't help their momentary awed gazes, even though they'd already seen it before.

"Well, don't just stand there and gape—you can do this, too! Let's go, change your wands to the swords." They needed no further prompting, and soon Harry held the gold and crimson Crusader sword in his hand, just as Helen was carefully wielding the blue and bronze scimitar. "For the purposes of our training, the blades do not need to be deathly sharp." He pointed his sword at the other two, and cast a dulling charm. He then did so to his own weapon.

"Alright, now, we're going to cast the same hex as before. See if you can feel the difference in power when you use the swords, as compared to your wands."

Dumbledore cast the hex—the teal orb was noticeably brighter—and it slammed into the wall, leaving a larger dent. Harry and Helen followed suit, with much of the same for results. They nodded to Dumbledore, telling him that they had indeed felt the difference.

"For the final demonstration, unlock the power of your swords. _Omnipotens_," he said, and his sword flashed silver as the flames lit up around the blade.

"_Animus_," said Harry, and his sword did the same, except in crimson and gold. Helen almost said the name to hers, but then realized that doing so would have revealed she had been awake while they had been talking the previous night. She gave Dumbledore a questioning look, and he nodded at her.

With an odd, almost knowing twinkling in his eyes, he said, "Ah, how could I forget? The name to your sword, Helen, is _Fervens_." She held his gaze for a moment, taking in his assumed perception, and incanted the name. The sword flashed blue and bronze, and the flames mirrored those of Harry's and Dumbledore's.

"Now, use everything you have, and you should definitely be able to feel the difference this time." Dumbledore raised his sword, and recoiled a bit from the force of the bright, twinkling teal ball of energy that shot forth. It was nearly as tall as himself, and when it crashed into the wall, there was a resounding clang. The dent was much more noticeable this time around.

Helen couldn't wait to try it and raised her sword before Harry got the chance to raise his. He smiled at her enthusiasm, and watched as her small arm also recoiled from the force of the spell that came forth. It wasn't quite as big or as bright as Dumbledore's, and didn't leave quite the dent, but it will impressive nonetheless. She had a strange, reflective look on her face.

Harry raised his sword and thought about the incantation, but did not say it this time. The effect of the unlocked sword was immediately apparent to him. He could feel as his magic built up and readied itself, far surpassing any amount of power he had previously displayed, and then washed from him like a tidal wave. The sword vibrated for a moment, and then recoiled nearly perpendicular as a huge, sun-bright, teal orb raced from it. It hit the wall with the cacophonous sound of rolling thunder, which reverberated around the Hall. When their dazzled eyes cleared, the three saw that the force of his spell had forced the entire wall into a concave shape. Helen turned her head to him, mouth wide open.

Harry looked to Dumbledore, and saw the old man was nodding to himself. "Just as I thought, Harry. The release of your true magical strength is impressive. I would venture to guess that you have at least twofold as much power as I do."

Harry was confused. "But," he started, "we were evenly matched in our duel."

"Yes, we were, but that was before you knew the true potential of your power. I am an old man, Harry, so I have had years to hone my strength and endurance, and that is why I held up so well in that duel. My finesse was just enough to overcome your brute strength, but in time, you will gain that finesse and probably be unstoppable."

Harry groaned. More things to be different about! "Why though? What determines magical strength?"

Dumbledore looked at both Harry and Helen. "No one is quite sure, but in both of your cases, you have some of the purest magical blood running through your veins. Some of it is most likely hereditary, but there is also some unknown factor. Take, for instance, squibs. Why are they born without magic? And, also, Muggleborn. Why are they born with magic from non-magical parents? It is one of the great mysteries of the magical world." He paused and considered Helen for a moment. "Both of you—but Helen in particular—still have time to continue to unlock your potential. I'm fairly certain that you're nearing your full magical output, Harry, but Helen here will probably continue to get more and more powerful until she's your age or older."

Harry didn't look surprised, but Helen did. "What?" she squeaked.

Harry laughed at her shock. "That's right, Helen. Someday you'll be more powerful than Dumbledore and just as if not more so than me." She let out a nervous laugh and glanced at the beaten titanium wall again, before resting her sword point-against the floor. Her stomach made a small noise.

Dumbledore looked mildly chastened. "Oh, that's right, it is a bit late. Why don't we have some lunch?" The three of them reverted the swords back into their wands, and then sat down at the table as lunch appeared. They chatted about various things, but kept the conversation light, and the meal passed very quickly. The next portion of the training, according to Dumbledore, was physical strength, and he directed them to the Room of Requirement for it.

When the door opened, the three of them were treated to a large, trendy Muggle gym, complete with various sets of equipment, a large sparring area, hot tubs, and a spa. Each machine had easy-to-follow instructions posted on them, and Harry and Helen worked out a bit. Helen only did some push-ups and crunches, with a few gymnastic exercises, because lifting would stunt her growth, but Harry had no such restrictions. He wasn't stick thin, but he wasn't very muscular, and looked forward to toning his body a bit. They worked on their physical strength for about 45 minutes, and then Dumbledore called them over to a far corner of the room.

"The next part will be your mental endurance. This will perhaps be the most unpleasant part of your training, but it is necessary. As they say, the only real way to learn is to use a hands-on approach, so in order to increase your mental stamina, I will be practicing Legilimency on you." Harry winced a bit, but nodded in acceptance. "As for you, Helen, you can work on building and strengthening your Occlumency shields for now." She nodded as well.

And for the next half hour, Dumbledore battered away at Harry's mental shields. Unpleasant was a rather mild word for what Harry was feeling, but he understood that some things were necessary if he wanted to protect his mind. There were just some things that others shouldn't know. Helen meditated the entire time, showing remarkable focus for a six-year-old, and snapped out of it only when Harry gently shook her. He grew more and more amazed by her poise every minute he watched her.

"That was definitely productive. Let me reset the room, and we can move onto the magical skill portion of our day." They exited and he did so, and then reentered to find a dueling arena. "This portion of the training will be friendly duels, so that we can explore our strengths and weaknesses and try new and different strategies. For now, it will be just Harry and I, but as you learn more spells, you're certainly welcome to join in, Helen."

She nodded and then settled back to watch and study as the two men started dueling with each other. It was mostly harmless, but they were using their unlocked swords, so the spells they were casting were very, very powerful. One spell Harry cast caused hair to gravitate towards it as it went by, and she could almost feel the magical energy prickling at her skin. She was awed by the power he displayed, but knew also that he was very humble about and would never exploit it. She knew that that was part of the reason that he was doing this training—he needed to control it and harness it, rather than let it control him. She was glad he and Dumbledore were letting her partake in the activities, because she didn't want to fall into the same trap later on.

After nearly an hour of the dueling, they stopped and moved on to the next the part of the daily training. Physical skill, as Dumbledore described it, was the increasing of their speed, agility, flexibility, and expertise with their sword as a weapon.

"Magic might be very useful, but it can't do everything, and you will certainly have an advantage if you know some Muggle tricks as well. Also, in a general sense, this will hone your reflexes and build your physical poise, which can't hurt."

Their swords still had the dulling charm on them, so there was no danger of them cutting each other. Dumbledore showed them some very basic movements, as well as some flexibility exercises that would help them move quicker and with more fluidity. Helen proved to be very quick—almost too quick for either of them—and very adept at learning skills with a blade. Harry wasn't far behind, but again he marveled at her willingness and desire to apply herself. He certainly wasn't like that at six, but then again, even though the Dursleys were horrendous, his early childhood was not nearly as bad as hers.

She was sure on her feet, and maneuvered around many of the parries that Harry or Dumbledore would have gained, and sent them both sprawling to the floor many times. She was laughing and enjoying herself, and both men weren't going to begrudge her of it just because of a few meetings with the rather hard mats. She needed something to laugh about, and maybe they had finally found something she could really, honestly enjoy.

Part of Harry's problem was the relative size of the swords, with the scimitar that Helen was using being fairly light and easy to wield. His Crusader sword, on the other, was still a bit weighty for him to move as quickly as she could, and that was something only time with the Muggle gym equipment could solve.

Dumbledore showed a surprising grace and agility for one over a century and a half old, but his age was ultimately why Helen got the better of him. What she lacked in skill versus him, she more than made up for it in the fact that she was so clever on her feet. He got a kick out of watching her, sometimes from his back on the floor, as she seemed to find her element in all of this. He personally couldn't wait to see how these skills developed in her.

"Well, that was certainly a most enlightening exercise, wouldn't you say?" he asked them once they had stopped.

Harry nodded and mocked glared at Helen, who just smiled impishly and twirled her scimitar in her fist in a rather startling way.

Dumbledore just laughed at her, as he could tell that she was truly enjoying herself. "I think it is about time for dinner. Let's return to the Great Hall and get something to eat."

They did so, and enjoyed another meal together. The shadows were growing longer and the temperature had dropped ever so slightly when they finished, signaling the onset of evening.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and considered the two before him for a moment. He had never encountered two as powerful before, and he didn't think he or anyone else would again (_unless, of course, they each have children of their own some day_, he mused). They also went remarkably well together, and seemed to be helping each other heal their vast wounds from Voldemort's reign. Harry's personal quest to take care of her from the minute he met her was warming, especially considering the heart of darkness he had briefly displayed a few times. Helen seemed to have a genuine wonder of the world and all new experiences that came with being a six-year-old, but the naiveté that one so young should possess was missing.

He shook his head and cleared his throat. "Now we have the last two portions of our training for the day. For your mental strength, Harry, you will be doing to me as I was doing to you earlier. Use your Legilimency on my shields, and try to break them. Don't hold back, because I certainly wasn't earlier. And Helen, you can work on your shields again."

Helen almost immediately dropped into a meditative state, leaving Harry and the Headmaster to do their work. Harry battered and rammed the old man's shields, mixing in more subtle attempts at breaking through. Dumbledore held fast though, and Harry made very little progress—certainly much less than Dumbledore had on his own shields.

Harry had to shake Helen from her meditation again, and wondered at how much progress she'd had over the day, but decided that he would give her a few more days or maybe a week before testing her shields.

Once he had their attention, Dumbledore spoke up. "For the last activity of the day, we're going to focus on magical endurance. This includes offensive and defensive endurance." He looked at Helen. "For today, I think you should just practice the _Protego_ spell, which essentially creates a magical barrier capable of blocking other magical energies."

"It can only block certain spells, though, right Albus?"

The Headmaster shook his head. "That is a common misconception, Harry, but it is for good reason. The spell is based off your own magical power, and basically rather than actually physical preventing the offending spell from getting to you it absorbs the magical energy. Then, it is your magical power that prevents the backlash from the energy from coming through. If it doesn't, though, then it appears like the spell just passes through the shield."

"Hmm…" Harry said thoughtfully, looking back over many instances of failed _Protego_s. It made more sense now that the theory behind the spell was explained to him, and he wished he had known it before.

"Then…could I block an _Avada Kedavra_ with it?"

"That is a gray area, Harry. _Avada Kedavra_ has an indistinct amount of energy behind it, because it is tied more to the soul of the caster than the actual magical core, but it has been supposed that if a _Protego_ were strong enough, then the spell would be blocked." Dumbledore pursed his lips for a moment. "However, the effect of that is not known, either. Very few spells are tied to the soul like _Avada Kedavra_ is, so in blocking it, you could kill the caster." Dumbledore shrugged. "All things to consider, my boy."

"Ok, so where do we start" Harry asked. Helen had already moved off to practice the shield spell, and he looked at her amusedly for a moment, before turning back to hear Dumbledore's answer.

"Let's move to opposite ends of the Hall, and you put up your shield charm. I'm going to batter it with the blasting hex from earlier, and you should try to keep the shield up against it. Let's use our full powers for this little exercise." Harry nodded, and incanted his wand into the crimson and gold sword, and then unlocked its powers and his with an utterance of its name. Dumbledore moved away from him, and he cast the shield charm.

The Headmaster raised his sword, and a steady stream of the huge teal orbs flew from the wand. Harry braced himself against the impact, shoring up the strength of his shield with even more of his energy, and flinched a little each time a powerful ball washed up against it. They kept this up for nearly twenty minutes, with no sign of either weakening, so Dumbledore decided to increase the power of his spells, as well as their frequency. Harry felt the change, and again strengthened the magical barrier around him. He could faintly start to feel the magical backlash of all the absorbed energy, and was worried about the effects it could have on the Hall. Just as he was about to say something, though, Dumbledore lowered his sword and strode over.

"Very good for the first day, Harry, but in the coming days and weeks we need to work on controlling that backlash a little more. It was about to get out of hand. Now, though, it is your turn to test your offensive endurance. Cast that blasting hex at me until I hold up my hand for us to stop." He turned back around before Harry was able to say anything, casting his _Protego_ as he went. He gave Harry the signal to start, and Harry raised his sword.

He started off slowly, casting a hex every few seconds, just testing the waters. He gradually increased their strength and frequency, and after about twenty-five minutes, felt himself tiring slightly. He decided to go for broke, and let his magic pour out of himself. It was hard to distinguish individual hexes as they came from his sword, and it appeared to be just a continuous large stream of teal energy. Dumbledore had to very clearly brace himself against the onslaught, but his shield still held, and Harry never did sense the same feeling of built-up magical energy he had when he was on the defensive. After a few more minutes, Dumbledore held up his hand, and Harry ceased.

He was panting a bit, but smiled as Dumbledore came over and clapped him on the shoulder for the power of the spells. "If I'm more powerful than you, Albus, how come I couldn't break your shield?"

"That would be one of the advantages of age, Harry. I know how to bleed your hexes off quickly and actually use that energy to strengthen my own shield, whereas when you were defending yourself you were just using your own strength to stop me. That is something we will get to soon." He stopped as he glanced over at Helen, and let out a short laugh and directed Harry's attention over to her. He looked and laughed at what he saw, as well.

Helen had evidently grown bored of or mastered the shield charm, because she was now wielding her sword and practicing moves they had learned earlier in the day. She ducked, dove, strafed, twirled, and leaped with her sword in hand; she was very fast and it was almost hard to follow her. Harry thought it was odd that she was almost inhumanly lithe, but he supposed that it must be another of the Ravenclaw traits in her blood. He pitied the poor fool who ever got fresh with her, because it looked like he would be eating dirt before he knew what hit him. An odd pang shot through him with that thought, and he supposed it was because people had already taken liberties with her…

After a few moments, she noticed that both men were staring at her and smiling, and she grew self-conscious. She finished her exercise with a dexterous flourish of the scimitar, and walked shyly over to them.

"What are you guys staring at?"

Dumbledore blinked. "We were staring, weren't we?"

She nodded. "It was kind of weird."

Both Harry and Dumbledore shook their head slightly. Harry said, "We were staring because you were doing so good! Who knew you could be that good with a sword?"

She smiled sheepishly. "Well, one of the things that I did when I was bored at the…Orphanage… and the Pediatrics Ward was practice something like that with a stick I have. It's always interested me for some reason."

"Probably cause you're amazing at it?" Harry asked.

She cuffed his arm. "Whatever, Daddy!"

"So, Helen, how did the _Protego_ go?" Dumbledore asked, smoothly changing subjects.

She raised her sword and said, "_Protego_," and a sleek, glistening bronze magical wall snapped into place around her. She averted her focus and the shield dropped. Harry and Dumbledore exchanged glances.

"The First Years in her class are going to be so jealous," Dumbledore said, deadpan. Harry laughed loudly at this, and incanted the reverting charm on his sword. Dumbledore and Helen did the same, and Harry picked up Helen into his arms.

"We're done for the day, correct?" he asked.

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, we are. Same time tomorrow?" At Harry's affirmative motion, the three of them walked from the Great Hall and up through the castle. As Dumbledore split off toward his office, he intoned, "Say hello to Ginny for me," and was gone around the corner.

----------

Harry plopped down on the couch in their suite with a sigh. Helen had gone to bed, citing tiredness, and it was just Ginny and him. He leaned into her shoulder, to which she smiled at and put down her pen. There were a few catalogues open on the coffee table between the couches, and from what Harry could see, they mostly were for bridal gowns. They sat in a companionable silence for a few moments, with Harry enjoying the closeness to the woman he loved and Ginny enjoying the fresh-from-the-shower scent he exuded. The light from the window flared briefly on the wall, and the sun slipped below the horizon.

"What do you think of just having a small wedding, Harry?" she asked eventually. Harry started—he had almost fallen asleep. Ginny chuckled softly.

"I think…I think that would be great, Ginny. Who needs pomp and ceremony? I already know that I love you, and I don't need hundreds of people there for me to confirm that."

A small smile played across Ginny's lips at his words. "I was thinking about just inviting our close friends and family."

"That's fine with me, love." Her shoulder felt awesomely comfortable, and he couldn't help but be mesmerized by the soft rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed.

She either noticed the direction of his gaze, even though she hadn't moved her head, or sensed it, because she asked, a bit coyly, "Something you like?" Harry froze for a brief moment, before smiling and nodding his head slowly. He met her eyes and she saw the amusement and…desire…dancing there, and she fairly melted right then.

"Harry?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"You know how we said we should just live it up?"

He looked more acutely into her eyes, but the desire did not fade. "Yeah."

"Well, let's start tonight."

Harry appeared to think about it for a moment, before acquiescing. "Ok, well what did you have in mind?"

Ginny smirked and turned slightly, grabbing his head in her hands and pulling him up into a searing kiss that would melt even the most frozen of wastelands. His brain swam, partly from the exhaustion of the long day and partly from the vast longing blazing through him at the moment, and he was momentarily lost in the joys of her lips and tongue. They danced against each for a few moments, before they pulled back from their mutual need of air. Both of their cheeks were rather rosy, and those same breasts he was staring at before were heaving now. He could see that her eyes were slightly cloudy, and he vaguely wondered if his looked the same.

He leaned in this time and recaptured her lips as his hands roamed over back. She reciprocated the action, and leaned into him so that he lay back on the couch. She was half above him and half off the couch now, and when they broke the kiss, she noticed that he was staring into her eyes.

"Ginny…"

"Harry…" they intoned at the same time.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he asked quietly. She bit her lip for a moment, and again he was oddly reminded of Hermione, before the thought was washed away by her simple nod. In a smooth motion, he stood and gathered her in his arms, and carried her from the living area into their bedroom. A mere thought closed the door and put up a silencing charm, but he didn't really notice it as Ginny had started kissing him again. He laid her back on the bed and then settled down next to her.

She moved her lips from his own to his jaw and then slowly to his ear lobe, which she nibbled briefly on. He shivered for a moment, reveling in the attention, and then felt her hand go to the buttons on his shirt, which she slowly undid. She moved back to his lips as the last button came undone, and slowly pushed the shirt off his shoulders. He moved so it would be easier to remove, and shivered again as her hands swept over his newly bared skin.

Harry turned over so he was partially above her, and repeated her earlier actions. As he paid attention to her lips, jaw, and ear lobe, he slowly and carefully undid the buttons to her blouse. She helped him pull it off, and lay back as he moved down from her lips to her neck. She arched her back as she felt his tongue slip over her heated skin, and shivered slightly as his hand passed lightly over her taut stomach. As he moved down her neck, his other hand went to the clasp of her bra, which was in the front, and undid it. His lips passed over the upper swell of her breast, and just as her bra was about to impede him, she pushed it away, revealing to him her pink nipples. They were surprisingly hard, and she squirmed as he captured one in his mouth and the other between his fingers.

She grasped his hair and made a cooing noise as his tongue flicked over the small nub, and wiggled a bit as she felt herself starting to grow aroused. Harry moved down from her breasts and trailed kisses along her stomach, stopping briefly at her navel to give it extra attention, before continuing south. When he reached the waistband of her pants, with one hand still teasing a nipple, the other went to the clasp. He stopped and looked up at her face, silently seeking permission to continue. She just stared lustily into his eyes, giving him that permission. The pure desire he saw in her face almost sent him over the edge right there, but he held himself in check, telling himself that she would cherish this night for the rest of her short life if it killed him.

He gently worked at the button and the zipper as he continued to trail kisses along her stomach, and soon was slowly pulling the jeans down her smooth, long legs. He moved so he was kneeling by her feet, and slipped the jeans off. He captured a leg in his hand, and moved his lips to the interesting curve of her calf muscle, as his eyes strayed to the very small pair of knickers she was wearing. Again, he was almost pushed over the edge, but he controlled himself.

He moved up her leg, vaguely wondering how her skin could possibly be so soft, until he arrived at her waist. He gently gripped the thong knickers in his hand and pulled them off in one smooth motion, baring her most private area to his greedy eyes. He silently applauded himself at his self-control, and then moved to make good on his unspoken promise to her.

She was soon bucking with pleasure as his talented tongue worked its magic, and her hands were entwined in his hair as she pressed his face into her. Her back was arched and her chest was heaving, but he did not notice any of that. All of his attention was focused on a little nub, and the wonders of it, and how it made her react when he did this nice little flick with his tongue…

"Oh my god….HARRY!" she cried, and was sent over the edge as waves of pleasure coursed through her nerves. She bucked into his face, which only heightened her climax. After what seemed like hours, she settled down and pulled him up, kissing him and tasting herself on his tongue. He was lost in her heavenly scent, and all that he could think was how much he loved her. Ginny, however, was aware of something hard that was pressing into her thigh, and she decided to help Harry out with it.

She turned them over so she was on top, and moved down his neck and across chest in much the same way he had. She flicked his nipple momentarily, but moved on quickly, not sure if it elicited the same response in men as it did in women. Harry, on the other hand, knew that it certainly did, but didn't complain as her kisses moved lower and lower, crossing over his abs and stopping near his waistband. She silently asked for permission, much as he had done, and he agreed.

She undid the button and pulled down the zipper, trying to control her breathing as she noticed the rather enticing bulge. The jeans came off, leaving only his boxers, and she had to contain the impulse to rip them off to get a good look at him. She kissed around the waistband for a moment, teasing him a bit, before giving into the urge and sliding them off quickly. Her gaze was immediately drawn to his obvious excitement, and she returned his earlier attention.

Harry had never felt something as heavenly as what she was doing to him now. The warmth of her mouth was better than anything in his wildest fantasy, and he marveled at her talented tongue as it slid over him. If what she had felt was only half this good, then he had done his job. All further thoughts were cut off, though, as she drew him into her throat.

He moaned and gently grasped her hair, trying to hold himself back. He was mostly successful, and soon enough (too soon to Harry) she raised her head and regarded him with hooded eyes. His chest was heaving and his eyelids were just as heavy as hers. She reached over to the nightstand and grabbed her wand, and cast the contraceptive charm on herself.

Harry was watching her every movement, and the lust she saw in his eyes sent a friendly buzzing returning to her stomach. She drew herself up over him, and the locked eyes as Harry felt wetness at the tip of himself. They both nodded almost imperceptibly, and Ginny lowered herself down onto him, meeting a little resistance at first, then pain, but then nothing but pleasure.

Their cries were synchronized as she moved up and down, and Harry's hands went to her hips to guide her along on her journey. They moved slowly and languorously at first, but soon their tempo increased to match that of their heat for each other.

"Fuck…Ginny…" he intoned, which sent her over the edge again. There was something about Harry talking dirty to her, in the heat of the moment, that was indescribably alluring, and her convulsing walls sent him over the edge as well. She could feel his warmth spreading through her as she continued to convulse. As they both came down from their highs, she leaned forward onto his chest, and kissed him deeply. He was still inside of her, and she noticed that he seemed to regain his excitement rather quickly.

She leaned back and smirked at him, to which he responded by flipping her over onto her back and resuming their actions. He slowly moved in and out; both reveled in the new sensations they were feeling from the new position, and they worked themselves back into a frenzy. There was nothing but heat and desire between them now, and the speed of the movements complimented those feelings, until they reached another mutual high.

When their convulsing stopped, Harry gingerly exited her and lay down by her side. He idly played with her hair as he tried to figure out what she was thinking. He hoped it was what he was.

"That was amazing…" she sighed. Yup—it definitely was. He smiled softly to himself, placed a chaste kiss on her cheek, and wrapped an arm possessively over chest. She curled into him, and then both fell asleep, blissfully aware that the other was still very much without clothing.

----------

July passed quickly. Harry and Helen continued to train every day with Dumbledore, and were showing marked improvements in all areas. Helen continued to impress them both with her quick growth and amazing potential, and Harry's magical power grew even stronger. Ginny came to the training a few times, but watched more often than participating.

She and Harry continued to develop the newfound depth of their relationship, with benefits for both, and it took them to a new level of commitment neither of them had experienced before. Helen noticed the change and asked Harry about it breakfast one day, to which Harry blushed. Dumbledore gave him a knowing smile and headed off Helen with discussion about using her sword in new ways.

She was remarkable in that aspect of the training—she was much faster than either Dumbledore or Harry and grasped the skills and movements involved quicker than them. Even with Harry's developing physical strength, he still hadn't reached a point where he could maneuver his Crusader blade as adeptly as she could her scimitar. He was proud of her, and let her know it, and she returned the praise tenfold because of every impressive skill he exhibited elsewhere.

Elsewhere. It was a funny word to Harry, especially when used in conjunction with the names Ron and Hermione. They both seemed to be elsewhere almost all the time, and had only visited the castle twice since the beginning of the summer. Both times Ron had seemed unusually dour towards Harry, and Hermione had just been pensively quiet. Both of their visits had been quite uncomfortable, for both Harry and Ginny, and Harry found himself wondering how he had let the gulf between him and his two best friends grow so much.

He was unwilling to consider Helen the factor in that equation, and instead blamed Voldemort and the war. He'd once read in a Muggle psychology book that funny things happen to people who've been through terrible traumas together, and he thought that this might be one of them. He hated it, and resolved that when they came for the wedding he would try to begin rebuilding the innate bond they had once—and he hoped they _still—_shared.

July 31st dawned bright and early, and Harry slipped out of bed to begin the day. Today was the day he turned eighteen, and also the day they were celebrating his and Helen's birthdays. They had the day off from training, due to that fact, and Harry wanted to get an early start. Three days away was another big day for him: his wedding. As far as he knew, everything and everyone was set, thanks mostly to Ginny.

True to her word, she had kept it small, and had tailored it to a quiet Hogwarts ceremony. Dumbledore would preside over it, following which there would be a small reception in the Great Hall. He was excited for it, but also somewhat saddened. The last month with Ginny had been amazing—not really because of the sex, but mostly because they had talked about anything and everything, and hadn't been afraid to broach the subject of her sickness.

As he watched the sun peek over the trees of the Forbidden Forest, lighting the lake in a brilliant orange hue, his thoughts turned to a happier subject: he planned to make this the best birthday Helen would ever have.


	13. The Precipice

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: Enjoy!**

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Chapter 13: The Precipice

Harry continued to watch the sun for a few minutes, losing himself in the beauty, before a soft noise made him turn around. Helen was exiting her room, rubbing her eyes a bit blearily. She was dressed in her running outfit, and Harry had to suppress a smile. Even on this day of all days, she wanted to continue to run. He was impressed by her drive and had relented after only a couple minutes—after all, it was _her_ day, so she would dictate some of the things they did and did not do. She noticed Harry, gave him a quick smile, and started for the exit of the suite. Harry bemusedly followed.

Their runs had gotten slightly longer and faster as the month of July had passed, and even though Helen was still running only about half the time that Harry was, they both were much more aerobically fit. They weren't winded as easily doing simple tasks, and the muscles in their legs had started showing a little definition—Harry more so than Helen, of course. As the sun valiantly clawed a little higher in the early hour, they set out across the grounds at a decent pace, stopping only once to stretch. Helen broke off after a half hour and stretched on the stone steps; once she had done that she produced her scimitar and worked on some moves as Harry finished his second half hour.

They rarely spoke during their morning workouts, but both found it to be quite peaceful. They had company if they wanted to say anything, but each thought it was nice just to have someone to exercise with. It was a time when they could sort out their thoughts, set goals for the day, and reflect on what they'd already accomplished.

Harry did a last lap of the grounds at a near sprint, and when he pulled up in front of the steps, he had to place his hands behind his head to catch his breath. A month of running did him a lot of good, but he'd be damned if he was ever a sprinter. The longer distances suited him much better.

"Little tired?" Helen asked cheekily, as she bounced from foot to foot, stabbing an invisible foe with practiced ease.

Harry chuckled softly through his gasps for air, and pulled out his own wand. He incanted the change, and the Crusader sword came into view. As his breathing settled, he cocked his head toward Helen, who paused for a second and then nodded.

She moved several paces away, turned to face him, and leapt into action before he had a chance to collect his thoughts. Metal met metal as Harry parried her initial blow, and he reacted barely in time to parry her second. The blades still had the dulling charms on them, so the best he would get was a bruise, but it still wasn't something he was looking forward to. At the rate she was moving, though, it wouldn't be long before he got just that.

She had grown and toned a little during the past month, and the skill at which she flourished her scimitar was an indication of that. Harry had to work overtime to move the Crusader blade fast enough to keep up with her, and his arms were screaming in protest after only a little more than a minute.

Helen ducked and swung the scimitar at his knees, to which he angled his blade down to block, but she changed the direction of the blow at the last second. Harry had to bend backwards at the middle in order to avoid it, but he overextended himself, and was soon on his bum on the grass; when he raised his eyes, they met the point of the scimitar and the smirking face of Helen.

"Come on, Daddy, you let yourself get beat by a little girl?"

Harry huffed an affronted noise and said, "Well, how can I help it if the little girl is twice as fast as I am?"

Helen lowered her sword. "Were you really trying as hard as you could?" All playfulness was gone from her voice.

Harry was surprised for a second at the sudden shift in her tone, but then said, "Of course. Would I lie to you?"

In a blur of movement, Helen spun around and had the sword-tip leveled at the side of Harry's head. Helen smiled again, this time at Harry's wide-open eyes.

"Just making sure," she said, and dropped the sword again. It took a few more seconds for Harry's bewildered brain to process what had just happened, and when it did, he just threw back his head and let out a laugh.

"You're too fast for your own good, Helen," he said, as they started up the steps into the castle. His expression sobered a bit. "Just remember, try not to get too cocky. If you can keep that in mind, then I don't think you'll ever have a problem."

"_Reverto_," she said, as she nodded. The scimitar changed back into the shape of her wand. "I know, Daddy."

Harry noticed a brief shadow pass over her face as they passed the threshold into the castle. "What is it, Helen?"

She stopped and looked up at him, leaning casually back against the stone wall. "Well…I heard something when you were still in school. It's kinda been bothering me ever since."

Harry wondered at her evasiveness; she was usually much more direct than this vague and circular direction she was approaching in. "Ok…what is it?"

"Someone was talking about…Draco Malfoy, I think it was…and how he had an irreversible heart condition." Harry was going to say something, but she hadn't finished yet. He let her continue. "They said that it was caused from magic, and that it was irreversible because no one knew the specific counter for it."

Harry nodded. He knew all of this. "So what's bothering you about it, Helen?"

"Mum's sickness isn't magical, is it?"

Harry shook his head solemnly. "No, honey, it's not."

"But her problem is basically the same as the magical one, right?"

He thought about it for a second; the two conditions _were_ remarkably similar. "I suppose so…but why do you want to know?"

"If we found the counter…if we found the magical counter, could it help the non-magical condition?"

Time stopped for a moment as Helen's words penetrated Harry's brain. It was an innocent question, based off the gleaned knowledge and innocent musings of a six-year-old, but it ignited in Harry something he hadn't felt in a long time—he felt the faint and unmistakable stirrings of hope.

"I'm not sure, Helen…" he drawled out, brain working. "But I suppose it's possible." Harry gave her an odd look. Why hadn't he ever thought of that?

She wasn't finished, however, and the slightly pained look on her face indicated that. "There is one more thing, Daddy." She paused for a moment, looking into his eyes. She must have seen reassurance or some other similar sentiment, because she took a deep breath and continued.

"I also heard someone talking about what you did on the night the Death Eaters came to Hogwarts. That thing you did…with their hearts…could you do the opposite of that?"

With Helen looking expectantly at him, Harry closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. She had now broached two subjects he hadn't really wanted to talk to her about, and she'd somehow connected both back to Ginny. But again, he was also wondering why he'd never thought of the possibility. She was clearly intuitive and sharp, but as Harry had proven many times in the past, he was a veritable tactical genius. Ron had the strategy, but Harry could make quick, decisive actions that almost always lead to a positive conclusion. He should have thought of these things before—before his six-year-old psuedo-daughter did.

Harry must have remained silent for much longer than he thought or had intended, because a hand on his arm caused him to open his eyes. Helen was looking up at him with some concern and perhaps a touch of fear in her eyes. Harry reached down and picked her up, smiling slightly at her. Her expression relaxed, but not all the way, as Harry's face soon sobered a bit.

"I don't really even know what I did that night, Helen. It was caused by…hatred; a hatred so powerful that I never want to feel something like that again. I hate killing…even those that deserve it…and I also could be a danger to those I love." He looked into her eyes. "Like you."

She smiled and pecked his cheek. "I know you would never hurt me, Daddy. And I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but what did you do exactly?"

Harry started walking in the direction of the stairs as he mulled over his answer. He wasn't sure how much he should say, but then he remembered a promise he once made to himself: he would be as truthful as possible unless he absolutely could not avoid lying.

"I killed them, Helen. I caused their hearts to explode." Harry winced at the directness of his statement, but Helen seemed to take it in stride.

She nodded a tiny bit. "That's what I heard, but I just wanted to make sure that it was the truth." She was silent for a moment; the only noise was the echo of Harry's footsteps as he moved along the wide, empty corridor. "Do you know how you did it?"

Harry shook his head. "Not exactly, no. I wasn't even thinking about it. It was almost like accidental magic—you know what that is, right?"

"Yup. Sometimes our bodies just do magic."

"Well…yes," Harry said, smiling slightly at her statement. Every once in awhile her age did shine through. "It's more than that, though. It's a lack of conscious intent. It's basically where our subconscious shows up."

Helen indicated that she understood, so Harry continued. "The thing that scares me about what I did, Helen, is that it _was_ my subconscious. I wasn't _trying_ to kill them all, but I clearly wanted to. That's the only explanation for the way my magic lashed out." His voice grew quiet toward the end, as if really vocalizing it for the first time scared him. And he guessed it did, because he wasn't sure how Helen would react.

But, in true 'Helen' fashion, she just smiled slightly and hugged him, before leaning back and saying, "You did what you had to, Daddy."

Harry was about to respond, but Helen put a finger to his lips when she saw this. She obviously had more to say. "I brought all this up because I was wondering if this related to Mum's heart at all? You're magic hurt their hearts, so couldn't it heal hers?"

For the second time almost as many minutes, Harry had a flash of feeling that felt foreign. Helen's words had again caused some hope to trickle into his being. He knew that it was probably a bad thing, and that in the wrong situations hope could be the worst of things; however, he couldn't ignore the meaning of her words, and that perhaps she had some valid points.

"You know, Helen, you amaze me." She cocked her head to the side slightly. "How did you get so smart?"

A corner of her lip lifted and she just shrugged. "Because I'm around you so much?"

Harry couldn't help but burst into laughter at her answer-in-a-question, because it most definitely wasn't true. "That's really funny, because you're definitely wrong there! Maybe if you hung around with Hermione more…" but he trailed off when his brain latched onto the images of Hermione and Ron.

Helen noticed the sudden silence, and looked at Harry's face. He had a faraway look in his eyes, as if he was remembering something, and it seemed like he wasn't really focusing on anything. She sensed the strange feeling of loss that would come from him at random times, but she had never really known or seen the bond that Harry had with Hermione and Ron, and couldn't really place that loss. She did recognize that, whenever they came up in conversation, Harry would become distant and very quiet.

She didn't say anything, though, because she noticed his gaze clearing. She didn't want him to close up on her. He shook his head very lightly and smiled at her. "Uh, well, anyways," he started, "you definitely have some ideas. I'll talk to Albus about them later on." He stopped in front of the portrait to their suite, and his smile lit up in a huge grin. "For now, though, let's celebrate our birthdays!"

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After waking Ginny and some showers, the three of them headed for the Great Hall to get a spot of breakfast. They met Dumbledore there, who was also eating, and shared harmless banter to pass the time. The main focus of the conversation was what they were going to do that day, but Harry refrained from telling explicitly what he had planned.

The trio remained in a playful mood as they exited the castle via Floo, but Helen and Ginny were surprised when Harry led them from the Leaky Cauldron into Muggle London, rather than in the opposite direction to Diagon Alley.

Harry hailed a taxi, which was a new experience for both Ginny and Helen, and he just laughed at their wonder of public transportation. The Wizarding World had its own version—the Knight Bus and the Floo network to some extent—but it was not nearly as extensive or varied as Muggle means. Since Ginny and Helen had never really been past the doorstep of non-magical London, they both stared out the window at the new sights. Harry took it all in, happy that his first real gift to Helen (and he supposed Ginny as well) was working out as well as it was.

The girls were very confused when Harry directed the taxi driver to stop in front of a large building with a huge black-and-white checkered flag over the door, but didn't ask any questions as they were instead staring in awe at the automatic door. When Harry walked up to the door and it slid open, Ginny did a double take because she hadn't felt or seen any magic—and that was surely the only explanation for it. She asked Harry about it, but he gave her some confusing explanation about eklektricity and how it made Muggle technology work like magic.

She was very bewildered, and the feeling only increased when her and Helen stepped through the doors. They were confronted with a low rumbling noise and the busy sight of a full queue. There was a model of something hanging from the ceiling that looked similar to the taxicab they had been in, but it was different at the same time. And…there was that rumbling noise again—it sounded a lot like someone racing by on a broom, but there was something much more mechanical about it.

Harry guided them into the queue and was obviously pretty excited about what they were going to be doing, but he wouldn't tell Ginny or Helen what it was. As they moved up further and further, Helen thought she saw flashes of something through the door behind the ticket booth, but was unclear as to what the thing moving by was. It was obvious to her that it was what was creating the rumbling noise, because it would grow very loud just before it passed the door, and then fade again after. Finally, they reached the booth, and Harry bought him and Ginny 'Unlimited Rides'; for Helen, he got something called 'Unlimited Ride-Along'.

Harry grabbed one of both their hands, and like an eager eight-year-old, quickly lead them through the door into the vast space beyond. He had to pull Helen and Ginny along as they naturally wanted to stop and take in the new sights, but he couldn't wait for that. It was all too exciting.

They had entered a vast arena; there were many go-karts traveling around a lengthy course, which was set up between myriad rubber tires. The noise was almost deafening at first, but they quickly adjusted to the throaty roar of the small but powerful engines of the little cars. A race was in progress, and the people who were driving the karts were smiling and laughing, all the while jockeying for the best position and place. Helen and Ginny continued to take in what was happening as Harry lead them over the to the queue for the karts. Once there, he finally noticed their shocked expressions, and set out to explain to them what they were seeing.

He told them about the concept of driving, such as what the person in the taxicab had done to get them there, and how it wasn't too complicated. There was steering, acceleration, and braking, and everything else came after the basics were mastered. Thankfully, as this was a closed go-kart track, the basics were all they would really need. After having grasped the concept of it, Ginny and Helen were very excited to get into a kart and onto the track.

Helen was disappointed at first when Harry informed her she was too young to do any actual driving, but her face quickly changed into a grin when Harry whispered that he'd let her steer some. Their turn came, and Harry showed Ginny how to properly sit and belt herself in, and then did the same for him and Helen. Just before the light changed from red to green, he reminded Ginny of which pedal was which. She just stuck her tongue out at him and floored it when the light changed.

Harry had to suppress a grin at her seemingly natural affinity for speed—which he should have knew was there, with her being a chaser and all—and floored his own kart to catch up to her. Helen squealed in delight as the accelerative forces pressed her back into her seat, and cheered Harry on as he passed a couple of other drivers in his bid to catch back up to Ginny. After some not-so-careful maneuvering around a particularly bothersome young boy, he was finally side-by-side with his fiancé. They shared a quick glance, in which Ginny's expression changed to a feral grin. She swung wide and then abruptly cut in front of Harry around a hairpin turn, almost forcing him to stop.

Not wanting to be beat (especially by a girl!), he never took his foot off the gas and instead used the lack in momentum to take the corner much sharper than he would have. He shot out from the apex of the turn like a rocket, and was soon passing Ginny, much to her chagrin. They battled it out for the rest of the run, clearly the two front-runners, but in the end, Harry made a costly mistake. He assumed that he had won, and started to take the corners sloppily, allowing Ginny to catch and overtake him. He was slightly disappointed, but accrued a feral grin of his own as he pointed to the 'Unlimited' part of their tickets.

For the rest of the morning, Harry and Ginny duked it out on the kart track, and it was pretty even. Harry let Helen steer about half of the times, only working the pedals, and surprisingly most of the times he won were when she was controlling the wheel. She seemed to instinctually know to take the tangents as best she could, and was unafraid to be assertive. She cut an older fellow off, who gave Harry a dirty look; when he noticed that it was actually Helen steering, however, he just started laughing and almost drove straight into a tire. Helen didn't notice, though, because she was concentrating on getting past Ginny.

Harry noticed that the tip of her tongue stuck slightly out of the corner of her mouth when she was focusing really hard, and smiled at how her nose scrunched up a bit when she saw an opening. Harry pressed the pedal to the floor a bit earlier than normal coming out from a hairpin, but it paid off. He may have slid to the outside a bit, but the edge he gained over Ginny with the slight speed difference was enough for him and Helen to be victorious. Helen had once again been at the helm for that entire race.

As the morning drew on, not once did Harry think of things that were troubling him. No heart problems…no strife between friends…no training worries. Ginny, Helen, and himself were truly enjoying the exciting atmosphere on the racetrack, and, if only for a short while, they all let the outside world fall away. It was only much later that, in bed that night, Harry would realize just how much a slight diversion could do for someone's spirits.

He and the others tended to get wrapped up in all of their own little problems and world, and they forget about the whole world that's out there. Racing around that track, weaving in and out of other racers, watching as Ginny and Helen battled with each other, he subconsciously and maybe even unconsciously came to see that there was more to life than training and power and Hogwarts. There was so much of the world he hadn't seen, and so much that he never would see, but he made a vow then and there, lying in bed staring at the ceiling, that he would take Helen at least to see and experience all the things he wished he could have.

But, as things were, they were exiting the go-kart arena, and he was still hours from that realization. Harry hailed another cab, and it whisked them away to a catered lunch in a fancy Muggle restaurant. Helen and Ginny were still chattering away about their driving experience, and the meal passed pleasantly. Ginny tried to look at the bill when it was delivered, but Harry playfully snatched it away before she or Helen could read the rather staggering amount of pounds it came to. Not that it mattered in Harry's case, though; he would most likely never have a problem with money for the rest of his life. He was still awed by the vast size of the Potter family fortune, to which he had just in the past few weeks been made aware of. He was even more impressed, although he felt slightly guilty about it, that he had been the sole beneficiary of Sirius. He had long gotten over his guilt about his Godfather's death, but the fact that Sirius loved and trusted him enough to leave the Black family fortune to Harry—and _only_ Harry—came as a surprise. He only wished he'd realized Sirius' and his feelings sooner.

From the restaurant, he took them toward the outskirts of London, and ultimately stopped at a large entertainment park. He led them through a building, bought another set of tickets for them, and then had them pick out a weird sort of metal shaft. The end of it was flattened and elongated for which, Harry explained, was useful to send the small ball—a _golf _ball, he called it—toward the hole in the ground. The sport of miniature golf was a weird concept, but since Harry had more or less been exposed to it since birth, he had never questioned its existence.

Helen and Ginny, on the other hand, were more than confused at first, but quickly took to the rather pointless but still fun task of hitting the little divoted ball into a hole. The various props that went with theme, which were based on the Muggle caricature of magic, especially delighted Helen; she giggled when the ball was snatched up and spit back out at her by an ugly woman with a long, crooked, wart-covered nose. The thing cackled evilly at Helen, who just whacked it once with her club as she passed by. Ginny and Harry amused themselves by observing just how skewed the Muggle view on magic was, and were both soundly trounced by Helen according to the final score.

Harry denied letting Helen win vehemently to the fiery little girl, who just shook her head and started back into the building. He and Ginny shared a look, which said they had indeed both let her win, and smiled. They linked arms as they followed their young charge—although both had privately been calling her 'their daughter' almost exclusively for some time—into the building, and returned their clubs.

Then, even though he knew he would probably regret it, he took both girls back into the heart of the city, to the shopping district. Sure enough, Ginny and Helen veritably ran from store to store, squealing and giggling here and there as he expected they would. Much to his surprise, though, he found a few things that greatly interested him, and was not very bored with the whole experience. Ginny, from a poor family, and Helen, with no real childhood, had not really had the opportunity to splurge for themselves, so Harry thought it would be a nice addition to a great day.

He told them they could spend freely, but they only bought a few things. Harry's gift for Helen was waiting back in the castle, as was Helen's for Harry, so the items they purchased were more along the lines of Muggle things they normally wouldn't get the chance to. Harry bought himself an pre-loaded mp3 player, even though he was not sure if it would work at Hogwarts or not; Ginny bought a fancy little alarm clock that could run off either batteries or electricity, which she liked the shape of and thought it would be practical; Helen picked out a Muggle mathematics textbook, of all things, to satisfy her seemingly insatiable need for knowledge.

The shadows lengthened slowly as the afternoon wore on, and Harry checked his watch as they left yet another clothing store. Seeing that it was about time, he led them down the street to a huge building with a sign that read 'Odeon Cineplex 18' on the outside. He started to explain the concept of film to the two of them, but they both cut him off saying they knew what it was, even though they'd never seen any. Harry had bought a Muggle newspaper earlier in the week to see what was playing, what would be appropriate for Helen, and what they all might like. The only thing that fit those categories was an American animated film, from a company called Disney. The film was called _Mulan_, and was supposedly a great adventure story.

He bought the three of them tickets and refreshments, and they made their way down the cavernous hallway toward the theatre. Since Ginny and Helen had never been in a film auditorium before, they did not immediately grasp the concept of being quiet, and Harry had to rather directly state that it was very rude to whisper after receiving quite a few dirty looks.

The filmed turned out to be quite enjoyable, and all three of them genuinely liked it. Some of the parts were a bit more violent than Harry was expecting, but they didn't detract from the overall innocence of it. Ginny and Helen really like the music; Harry really liked the cinematography, even though it was animated and he didn't know that was what it was called. They left the cinema satisfied and content.

The sun was just dipping below the western horizon as they entered the Leaky Cauldron. When Harry led them past the fireplace, Harry was expecting Helen to ask why they weren't Flooing back, but she must have remembered that the Floos from the castle were all one way. After successfully triple Apparating once again, they soon found themselves in the comfortable familiarity of their suite.

"Wow," said Helen, from her favorite armchair by the fireplace. "That was one of the best days of my life." Ginny nodded in agreement, and Harry smiled happily. He had set out to make this day memorable for Helen, Ginny, and himself, and it seemed like he had done just that.

"Ok, I think it's time for gifts!" announced Harry as he jumped up from the couch. After a moment's disappearance into his and Ginny's room, he reemerged with a long rectangular package in his hand. Helen got the idea, and was soon coming back from her own room with a package. Ginny retrieved hers for the both of them from under the windowsill, where it had been for a few days.

"I think I'll go first," said Ginny. She took the smaller package and handed it to Helen, who eagerly tore into it. Through the flurry of torn gift-wrap, Harry heard a soft squeal and was soon able to see why: Ginny had gotten Helen her very own copy of a Muggle fairly tale she was fond of talking about. Helen admired the gold-embossed letters on the cover, which read _Cinderella_. She probably first heard it at the Orphanage, and it had stuck with her since.

"Ah, what a lovely gift, Ginny," he whispered into her ear. He then picked up his own gift for Helen and passed it to her. Helen eyed the long box for a moment, and then tore into it in much the same way she had with the other gift. Her squeal was a bit louder this time—she had a triumphant look on her face as she pulled the brand new, personalized Firebolt from the box. It was still the fastest broom on the market, even after more than four years, and Harry knew she would love one.

"I'm glad you like it, Helen, but just promise me one thing." She looked up at him. "Don't ever fly alone, or at least not for awhile, alright?" She merely nodded and gingerly set the broom down next to the chair. Then, without warning, she leapt up and onto the couch, embracing both Harry and Ginny as best as she could.

Her voice quavered slightly as she said, "This has been the best birthday I've ever had." When she leaned back, there were faint tear streaks on her cheeks, but she laughed and brushed them away, bounding back over to her chair. She got her gift for Harry and plopped it into his lap. He let out a small _oomph_, as it was much heavier than it looked, and glared mildly at Ginny when she chuckled at him.

He saw that Helen was waiting, getting more and more nervous by the second, so he ripped open the wrapping paper. He smiled immediately upon seeing what it was, and laughed inwardly at the practicality of Helen. She had gotten him a thick book entitled _Teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts_. It was apparently written by a few Aurors, each of a different nationality, and included the best of each of their individual knowledge. He looked at Helen and pulled her into a hug, thanking her. She kissed his cheek and stepped back; she was eager to see what Ginny had gotten him.

Ginny's package was slightly larger than Helen's, but it wasn't as heavy. He unwrapped it and opened the box inside, and what he pulled out caused a small lump to form in his throat. It was a jumper—one that he recognized as a Weasley trademark—with his initials _HJP_ on the front. The jumper itself was black, and the letters were a deep emerald green. He knew Ginny had made it, and he also knew that it was far more meaningful than a simple jumper ought to be because of their history. He looked into her eyes and mouthed thank you, and she nodded and smiled.

"Oh man, I'm knackered," Ginny said. Helen nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, me too. This has been a great day, but it sure was tiring!"

"Why don't we all head to bed then?" Harry put in. No one had any complaints, and they all said their goodnights as they made their way to their rooms. Just as Harry was about to change out of his clothes, however, he remembered that he wanted to have a discussion with Dumbledore.

"Um, actually, I need to go see Dumbledore for a little while." Ginny nodded as she slipped between the sheets.

"That's fine," she said, through a yawn. "I'll probably be asleep by the time you get back."

"Alright," Harry said, and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. "Goodnight, love."

"Night," she said, and watched him through tired, half-lidded eyes as he left their room.

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The Gargoyle sprung aside and the stairs revolved upward just ahead of Harry's arrival, so the Headmaster was either expecting him or knew he was coming.

"Yes, Harry?" Dumbledore asked as the young wizard stepped through the door.

Harry smiled as he sat down across from his mentor. "Helen made some rather…astute observations this morning and I'm here to see if they hold any water."

Dumbledore nodded. "Before you do that, though, how did today go?" he asked.

"Just fine; in fact, it went really well. Helen and Ginny had a great time and so did I. Muggles don't have magic, but they have some things magic could never accomplish. I'm glad I decided to take them out into non-magical London for the day."

"I see…and how did they do at the driving?" His blue eyes twinkled brightly as he asked.

Harry let out a soft laugh. "Seemed like Helen and Ginny had a friendly little competition going on by the end. It's too bad wizards don't drive," he said with a playful smile.

"Indeed." There was a momentary pause. "Now, what was it you wanted to ask me about?"

"Well, Helen saw some parallels between Ginny, Draco, and the Death Eaters I killed that I really hadn't thought about." Dumbledore indicated his interest with a raised eyebrow. "Draco's heart condition was essentially the same as Ginny's, except that his was magical and hers isn't, right?"

Dumbledore nodded. "So it stands to reason that if there were a counter curse for whatever was afflicting Draco, it could perhaps help Ginny?"

"It would be logical, yes…but, Harry, you must know that anything is a long shot—"

"Yes, yes, I know," Harry interrupted. "I know the whole spiel about not getting my hopes up and all that, but shouldn't we at least try something. The doctors, both magical and Muggle, have basically written her off as a lost cause."

Dumbledore was silent for a moment. "I hate to be blunt, Harry, but that is essentially what she is." Harry met his eyes, but otherwise did not respond. He knew that the Headmaster's words were accurate, but it still haunted him that basically nothing could be done. Fate was cruel.

"I know that," he said quietly. "But there was something else." Harry looked up at Dumbledore once again. "I destroyed thirty men's hearts, correct?" Dumbledore nodded. "So what's to prevent me from doing the opposite with Ginny's?"

Dumbledore let out a long, slow sigh, and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. He stayed in that position for a moment before removing his hands and raising his eyes to Harry. "Again, logic would dictate that it is possible, but there are two things that I see which would stop you."

"Oh?"

"The first thing is what if something went wrong? What if you use too much power, or overcorrected, or just did it wrong? What would happen to Ginny? Would she be worse off? Would she be in excruciating pain? How do you know that you can account for everything?" Harry was silent.

"And that's the other thing. Her malady is rooted deeply in her genetic makeup and chromosomal structure, from what I understand. Simply 'fixing' her heart probably wouldn't solve the issue—it might only delay the inevitable." Harry's face dropped more and more as Dumbledore continued, and Dumbledore noticed.

"Look Harry, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there comes a time when you face the choice between what is right and what is easy." Harry looked up sharply, a strong sense of déjà vu forcing his motions.

"Yes…yes…I know I have told you that before, but I think it is even more relevant now. For all intents and purposes, Ginny has a terminal illness. If, and I do mean _if_, we do come across some sort of solution, then it has to _Ginny's_ choice, and no one else's. She would have to know the risks and make an informed decision. You have to think of her, Harry, more than yourself, and I know it's hard, but your choice must be in her best interest, not your own."

Harry breathed in deeply for a moment, clearing his clouded mind. Dumbledore was right, of course, as he always was, but he felt so useless. It killed him that he couldn't solve the problem, and that he was basically watching his beloved Ginny die.

"Will you at least consider what I've said?" Harry finally asked.

Dumbledore's age shown through in that moment, and for the first time in awhile, Harry remembered that the man was over a century and a half old.

"For you, Harry, yes." Harry got up to leave, having said all that he could have or wanted to. Dumbledore's voice stopped him as he turned. "I make no promises, though." Harry nodded, looking back, and started for the door. His Headmaster's voice stopped him for a second time just as he reached it.

"It might be time for you to start really accepting things, Harry," he said quietly. Harry bowed his head, but otherwise made no acknowledgement. He left and strode down the stairs past the Gargoyle, beginning his long, lonely trek back to the suite, with nothing but his thoughts to occupy him.

----------

Harry Potter was usually a calm person, but at the moment, he was as nervous as he'd ever been. It was for more than one thing, too. A bead of sweat trickled slowly down his forehead as he scanned the small crowd in front of him. He was standing in the Great Hall, at an altar Dumbledore had conjured up for this occasion. He was dressed in the wedding dress robes Ginny had picked out for him, twiddling the fringe of one of the pockets absentmindedly as he continued scanning the people.

That was one of the reasons he was nervous—he was about to get married, and it was in front of people. He loved Ginny. About that there was no question whatsoever. He knew he wanted to be fully committed to her, but it was still a big step. He knew Ginny felt the same way, and in some ways, it made him more nervous. Would he be a good husband? Could he love her as much he wanted to? How would their relationship with Helen change when it became official? The questions were swirling around his brain as his eyes finished their sweep, coming to rest on a head of fiery red hair near him.

That was the other reason he was nervous: Ron. Ron had agreed to be his best man, but it was very apparent to Harry that things were not good between them. Ron had barely spoken a word since he and Hermione had arrived, and the things he had said were monosyllabic and sour. Hermione was even more taciturn, and Harry was trying to figure how and when would be the best time to corner the both of them and start to straighten things out.

Looking at it now, he couldn't figure out when things had gotten in such a way. Ron had always been there and Hermione, especially, had always been receptive of what Harry had to say. The fight that he and Hermione had wasn't pleasant, but mere words shouldn't have ruined such a strong bond between the three of them. Harry was nervous because it seemed like there was something more going on than what he knew, and he was afraid that it would all blow up in their faces.

This was all weighing on his mind, not to mention the fact that he was now waiting for his bride to come down the aisle, led by the oldest Weasley. Bill was standing in for Arthur as the person to hand her off. His eyes stole toward Fred, George, and Charlie, who were all sitting near the front of the small number of seats. They had nothing but good things to say to Harry, even though there was a tangible sadness about Ginny. They had avoided the topic of her condition, so Harry did not bring it up. He hadn't had a chance to talk to Bill yet, and Ron wasn't in the mood to say much of anything these days.

Movement caught his eye, as well as a flash of color, and his attention was drawn toward the back of the Hall. The doors had opened and standing there was Ginny. His breath caught in his throat—she was beautiful. Her slender frame of 5'8" was normally accentuated nicely by her curves, and the wedding dress wasn't bashful, so she looked positively stunning. She had a small tiara made of white lilies, which were quite appropriate in Harry's eyes, and her hair was raised into a graceful bun. Single rivulets of ruby red fell on either side of her face, framing it,

She smiled a little bashfully when she noticed Harry's gaze, and then the music started up. Wizarding weddings were very similar to Muggle ones, in that certain choice music was still played, but magic was used to accomplish some things Muggles couldn't. For instance, there was no organ. Dumbledore simply conjured the song and it was playing on the air by itself. Ginny and Bill started up the aisle toward the altar, a little haltingly at first, but more and more steadily as they drew closer. Harry's whole world drew into the beautiful woman in white approaching, so he didn't notice the slight tightening of Ron's face beside him.

When Ginny and Bill reached the front row, he leaned down and pecked her on the cheek, whispering something in her ear. She blushed and lightly shoved him away, and turned toward Harry. Her brown eyes were already sparkling with unshed tears, and Harry knew it was only a matter of time before she, and probably he as well, were crying. Hermione left her seat and came to stand next to Ginny as she stopped across from Harry. She and him turned to face each other.

Dumbledore smiled, raising his hands to begin things. "Blessed is this day upon which two young people decide to express and share with us their deep love for and bond with each other." He paused, taking in the small gathering with his eyes. "Harry James Potter and Ginevra Molly Weasley wish to join in marriage today; if there are any objections, speak now, or unto forever hold your peace."

Silence reigned supreme, as no one in their right mind would dare interrupt Harry Potter's wedding. A few people shifted slightly, including the red-headed young wizard and bushy-haired young witch on the altar, but other than that, nothing.

"Wonderful. Now, Harry, please take Ginny's hand in yours, and repeat after me. 'I, Harry James Potter, take Ginevra Molly Weasley to be my lawfully wedded wife.'"

Harry looked directly into Ginny's eyes. "I, Harry James Potter, take Ginevra Molly Weasley to be my lawfully wedded wife."

"'To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, till death do us part.'"

Green eyes were locked singularly onto brown, and the world around fell away. "To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, till death do us part."

Dumbledore's gaze shifted onto Ron, who slowly produced a ring. The Headmaster inclined his head to Harry, and Ron held it out. He eventually had to nudge Harry, because Harry wasn't paying much attention to his surroundings. Harry took the ring from Ron and, as he did so, he looked at his face. Ron should have been happy, but there was no smile there.

Dumbledore continued. "'With this ring, I pledge my undying support and love for you.'"

Harry held Ginny's slender hand in his and slid the ring on her long, elegant finger. "With this ring, I pledge my undying support and love for you." Ginny bit her lip as it trembled slightly. Harry squeezed her slightly shaking hands.

Dumbledore's attention shifted to Ginny as he said, "Ginny, please repeat after me. 'I, Ginevra Molly Weasley, take Harry James Potter to be my lawfully wedded husband.'"

In a very quiet voice, Ginny repeated the words. There was a slight tremor in her voice. "I, Ginevra Molly Weasley, take Harry James Potter to be my lawfully wedded husband."

"'To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, till death do us part.'"

Ginny sniffled and smiled as a single tear dropped down her cheek. "To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, till death do us part." Harry distantly heard a few other sniffles coming from the direction of the audience, but it was only a passing recognition. Ginny was gripping his hand like a lifeline now.

Hermione needed no prompting from Dumbledore, and produced the ring. Ginny took it from her with a soft smile as a tear slid down the other cheek.

"'With this ring, I pledge my undying support and love for you.'"

She took Harry's hand in hers and positioned the ring at the end of his hand, pausing slightly. "With this ring, I pledge my undying support and love for you." The ring slid home.

Dumbledore smiled, and again raised his hands in a sweeping gesture. "Harry James Potter and Ginevra Weasley Potter, I now pronounce you husband and wife." Two more tears slipped down Ginny's cheeks, and a similar one left a wet streak on Harry's own. "You may kiss your bride, Harry."

Heads leaned toward each other, eyes closed, and lips met in the sealing act of their bond. They didn't notice it because the other's lips were the focus of their entire universe, but there was a magical backlash as they kissed. The crowd saw it, though, and recoiled slightly from the whipcrack nature of it. It was harmless, but it was intimidating.

Two ribbons of magical energy—one emerald green and the other ruby red—arced out over the audience and then snapped back in, wrapping around the bride and the groom. They twirled tighter and tighter, getting brighter and brighter, and finally fading as Harry and Ginny leaned back from each other. Dumbledore started clapping, which was mirrored by everyone, with one or two noticeably less enthusiastic about it. Dumbledore saw it, but chose not to say anything to Harry or Ginny, for fear of ruining the moment.

Ginny wiped the wetness from her eyes and leaned into Harry as they made their way down the aisle. She was where she'd always wanted to be—in the arms of her husband, Harry Potter.

----------

The reception turned out to be a roaring success, and Harry and Ginny honestly enjoyed themselves. After a brief interlude, in which Dumbledore had turned the Great Hall from a wedding décor to one more suitable for the reception, the festivities resumed. The House Elves provided magnificent food, and the atmosphere was very relaxed as people ate, drank, and danced themselves into the night.

Harry surprised Ginny by being a fairly adept dancer, and they spent most of the evening on the dance floor, entertaining themselves and their guests. Through all of the fun, they both forgot about their problems; Harry still hadn't spoken to Ron and Hermione about what he really wanted to and Ginny hadn't thought of her heart in hours.

Harry focused on the radiantly smiling face of Ginny as they twirled. The background faded into a blur of colors, and all he could see was the laughter in Ginny's eyes. Today had turned out to be one of the best days of his life, and he was glad that he had shared it with her. All of his previous nervousness had faded, and now he was just looking forward to his time with her.

The song ended and they stopped, walking off the dance floor to their table. Dumbledore, Ron, Hermione, Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, Hagrid, and Helen were sitting there. Most looked up and smiled at the new couple, who were engrossed in themselves. Harry sat down and Ginny plopped into his lap, wrapping her arms around him. They both missed the slight flinch from Ron.

"So, was this up to your standards, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry chuckled slightly as he responded. "I love your rhetorical questions, Albus."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and he chuckled as well, taking that as enough of an answer. He was ecstatic that Harry and Ginny had finally found some true happiness, and that they had finally sealed the strength of their relationship. As Headmaster of Hogwarts, there was very little that he missed that went on in the school, so he had known from very early on that Ginny Weasley—now Ginny Potter—was in love with Harry. He had observed how the bond had grown over the years, with a lot of help from what Harry had done in the Chamber of Secrets, but he'd also noticed some peculiar qualities about it. For a while, it was completely one-sided; it always seemed like a much more mature type of feeling than adolescents exhibited. When Harry had finally opened his eyes and seen it, there was a tangible sense of 'coming together', because that was the only way Dumbledore knew how to describe it.

The air, or perhaps the magic, in the castle seemed to settle a bit, and things were a little less chaotic. Add to that the ending of the war, and there had been a certain harmony in Harry's life, although clouded with recent events, since then. However, as usual, he couldn't help but notice a tension that had been building for at least a few weeks now. It had not gotten past him that Harry's closest friends, Ron and Hermione, had only visited the castle twice during the month of July. It was atypical for two reasons: one being that the three of them had an extraordinary friendship, and the second being that Ginny had a terminal illness. He would have expected Ron to be with her more, as well as Hermione, but it seemed to be the contrary. The older Weasley's had all been to see Harry and Ginny several more times than their younger brother, and Charlie had even refrained from returning to Romania.

By themselves, the pieces of the puzzle didn't add up to much, but taken together, Dumbledore felt that something was about to snap. They were all standing on the edge of a precipice, and a small nudge could send them either way—plunging over the edge, or safely away from it.

Dumbledore watched as Harry and Ginny were once again focused on nothing but each other. His gaze shifted to the left, where Ron and Hermione were sitting. She had a hand on his forearm, and the knuckles were white with strain. Ron had a mutinous look on his face; Hermione's was almost pleading. Ron wrenched his arm away and stood up, gathering his things. Hermione seemed to be reluctant as she followed suit, and both started to walk away from the table.

Harry started as he realized the table now had two less occupants. His eyes quickly scanned the room, and he saw who he was looking for. Ron and Hermione were halfway to the door of the Hall.

"Babe," he whispered. "Let me up. I have to go do something. I'll be right back." Ginny gave him a knowing look, and directed her gaze over his shoulder at the two retreating backs as she stood. Harry went after them, and Ginny sat back at the table, mulling over the day.

It had been wonderful, there was no doubt about that, but there was something wrong with it all. Ron and Hermione had barely spoken, and she was slightly angry with them for being so distant on her wedding day, of all things. She felt that things were coming to a head, and she hoped her wedding night wouldn't be completely ruined.

----------

The door of the Great Hall clanged shut behind Harry as he exited, startling Ron and Hermione into turning around. Ron's eyes instantly clouded when he saw Harry, and Harry noticed the firm grip with which she was holding his arm.

"Uhh…hey guys…I was wondering if we could talk?" Harry asked hopefully. Hermione's eyes instantly brightened, but Ron's only got darker.

"What could _you_ possibly want to talk about?" Harry recoiled from the venom in the redhead's voice. He had never heard it directed at himself before.

Harry faltered. "Err…well, I want to talk about us—the three of us."

There was a silence for a moment, in which Harry noticed a slightly pleading look with which Hermione was looking at Ron, but Ron was intently focused on Harry. He started to take a step toward him, but Hermione's grip on his arm held him in place.

"Since when have we been 'the three of us'?" he asked. Hermione closed her eyes briefly, as if to draw upon some inner strength.

Harry answered the only way he knew. "Since that first day on the Hogwarts Express, Ron."

This seemed to cause a pause in Ron for a moment, but he quickly recovered. "It seems to me, _Harry_, that that ended awhile ago."

Harry felt like he'd been slapped. Awhile ago? His fight with Hermione wasn't that long ago, only a few months, and in the grand scheme of things, it really wasn't that big of a deal.

"What are you on about, Ron?" It seemed to be the wrong thing to say, though, as Ron's face grew red.

"'What am I on about', he asks," Ron repeated, laughing mirthlessly to himself. "How about my _family_, Harry."

Now Harry was really confused. This was not going at all how he had intended. "Your…family? Ron?"

"Yes, my family, Harry! How can you be so thick about things?"

It was Harry's turn to grow slightly red, as his own ire grew. "What the hell are you talking about? Obviously this is about more than the words Hermione and I had, but I'm at a loss, here."

Ron snorted, as if in disdain, and glanced at Hermione. The look on her face, which was of a slight fear, again caused him a momentary pause. It only lasted a few seconds, though, because when his eyes shifted back to Harry, the anger was back.

"Let me explain it for you, then, Mr. Boy-Who-Lived." Harry winced at the moniker, because whenever Ron used it in that tone, it meant bad things. "We Weasley's, we're a tight family. We always have been. Mum and Dad raised us to depend on each other, and because there were so many of us, we were very close. To an outsider, we probably looked like a ragtag bunch, but we knew that we fit well together." The words continued to flow from Ron's mouth, and Harry instantly knew that he had been stewing on this for a long time. It wasn't a prepared speech, but it was articulate and to the point, and that was something that Ron normally lacked.

"Growing up, before Hogwarts, you were the hero of the Wizarding World. Everyone placed you on a pedestal, and talked about you like you were some sort of god. I wanted to meet you because you were a celebrity, and it turns out that I didn't even know that I had met you at first. Talk about the ultimate irony, eh?" Ron trailed off for a moment, as if thinking about the past. He then shook his head and his face grew hard.

"We became fast friends, and soon Hermione joined us. We were inseparable and we worked well as a team—she was the brains, you were the tactician, and I was the strategist. We were almost unstoppable. Eventually even Voldemort fell before us." He paused again, and his gaze zeroed in on Harry's. "Or rather, _you_. It's been more and more apparent since that day, but I think in some ways I always knew. It's always been about _you_, Harry, and you couldn't care about what happens to anyone else."

Whoa, wait a minute. That was absolutely dead wrong, and Harry made to interrupt. "Now wait—"

Ron overrode him, however. "No, I don't want to hear it, Harry. I should have seen it a long time ago, but I didn't, and now it's cost me most of my family. My parents, who you _were there_ to save, died because we knew you. Bellatrix never would have gone to the Burrow that night if the Weasley name weren't synonymous with 'Harry Potter'.

"I know you know what it's like to be parentless, but I don't think you know what it's really like to lose them. You were only a baby when it happened…I'd known mine for close to 18 years."

This time Harry's interruption was loud enough to achieve its goal. "How can you say that, Ron? You know the memory of that night haunts me—how many times have I woken you up by my screaming?"

"That's beside—"

"No, it's not! At least I went to the Burrow that night, Ron. I know I was too late, but at least I got Bellatrix. I avenged your parents for you. You talk to me about loss? I think I felt the loss of Arthur and Molly just as much as you did!"

Ron's face twitched and a vein, reminiscent of Vernon, started throbbing in his forehead. His voice was a low, guttural growl. "Don't ever speak to me about my parents again. And what about Ginny? She's _dying_, Harry, and you've taken her away."

Harry was stunned. Ron wasn't that thick, was he? "I've…taken her away? You could have visited the castle at any point, Ron; the door is always open here. Ginny would have welcomed you, too. She thought that something was wrong, that you were angry with her or something, because you'd only been to see her twice." Harry tried to calm his breathing. "How could you do that to her? When she needs you most, you aren't there for her?"

Ron's face contorted and he shook with rage, but with some obvious effort, he controlled it. His voice was dangerously quiet. "No, but you were, Harry. And that's it, isn't it? I've always been second best to you—to her, and to my whole family."

Not jealousy _again_. "That's rubbish, and you know it."

"No, it's not. My brothers aren't speaking to me anymore, because I refuse to speak to you. You know what that says to me? You're more important to them, more important than their own _flesh and blood_." Ron took a deep breath. "You've ruined my family, Harry."

Harry's tight control snapped, and the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. "You ruined it yourself, Ron."

Ron got a feral look on his face, sputtered for a moment, and wrenched his arm from Hermione's grasp. She grabbed again, but missed, and just watched with horror in her eyes as Ron advanced on Harry. He drew back his fist and slammed it into Harry's jaw, sending him flying off his feet. He landed hard on his bum.

Harry absently rubbed his jaw as he stared up at Ron with wonder. Ron had just slugged him in the face.

Ron's voice was very quiet as he spoke again. "I seem to remember something that you said, many years back. I think it was 'You and Hermione were the first real friends I had'." Ron shook his head and turned around. He spoke again as Harry stared at the wall that was the redhead's back. "No more, Harry. No more." He walked away. Hermione gave Harry one last, long look, before turning away slowly and following Ron out of the doors into the starry night. Harry didn't say a word as he watched them go.


	14. Fallen

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: Brownie points to those who can point out the exact line the title of this chapter comes from. Enjoy!**

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Chapter 14: Fallen

Seven-year-old Helen Potter was looking for her father, eighteen-year-old Harry Potter. She wasn't sure exactly when Harry had gone from being just 'Harry' to her 'father', but the word didn't even cause a pause in her anymore. Having never known her real father, there was no reason for her mind to think it odd, and for all intents and purposes, Harry had become her parent. She knew they shared a strange kind of bond, but she couldn't really place it. To her, he sometimes felt like a big brother, but most of the time, he felt like she thought a father should.

When she exited the bathroom in their suite, from her shower, she had been expecting Harry to be patiently waiting to take his own shower. They had just finished their training for the day, and when she had went into the bathroom, he had been in the living area. Now, though, he was nowhere to be found.

As she exited through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room, her thoughts went to the past month. It was now the last day of August; the month had been a weird one. Her Dad and Mum's wedding had been at the beginning, and she had been amazed at the beauty of it all. She couldn't quite understand romantic love yet, but she could tell that Harry and Ginny cared deeply for one another.

The wedding had gone flawlessly, but then Harry had left their table toward the end of the reception. When he had come back…he had a very odd expression on his face. It seemed to be a mix of sadness and shock, but that wasn't what captured her attention. He had an ugly bruise forming on his jaw, and when Ginny had asked him about it in alarm, he said he'd slipped on some water and hit the wall. It was clear to Helen, and Ginny too, by the look she was giving Harry, that what he said wasn't the truth.

Helen then realized that the table had less people than before Harry had left, but she couldn't place whom the missing ones were. She looked from the Headmaster, to the Professors, to Ginny, Harry, and then to the two empty seats. Then she realized it: Ron and Hermione. She had pursed her lips in thought, because she was beginning to make a definite connection between Harry's moods and those two.

Since that day, things had been different. Before the wedding, Harry had always been warm and friendly, to just about everyone, but starting the very next day, his attitude had been remarkably cool. He rarely spoke unless spoken too, and he went about his training much more seriously; the less spontaneity didn't really bother Helen, but she didn't get it. That's what bothered her. There was something in all of this, something large apparently, that she was missing, and she hated to be out of the loop.

There was something else that didn't make sense. Harry hadn't been mean or anything like that to her, but he wasn't as inviting—his personality had closed off. However, with Ginny, he seemed to actually be more and more devoted to her. She could partially understand that, as Ginny was sick, but the sudden jump in their relationship didn't fit. Sure, they had gotten married, but they had essentially been so before.

As she walked through the common room portrait into the corridor, the pieces continued to swirl around in her head. She paused, thinking for a moment of all the places that Harry could be, and then decided to head for the seventh floor. She knew that she and Harry had shown giant leaps in their training during the month of August, but she wished she could go back to the night of the wedding and find out what happened.

The Harry she had been living with recently wasn't the same Harry that had rescued her and brought her to Hogwarts. She wasn't even sure if he realized it, because she knew if he did he would immediately be guilty and try to make it up to her in some way. It wasn't selfishness that made her think that way—it was, rather simply, that she knew Harry's personality too well.

She enjoyed Hogwarts, but she liked it a lot more during the school year. With just a few people in the castle, it was huge and empty and lonely. Her footsteps echoed across the cold stone as she climbed stair after stair. She paused for a moment at the seventh-floor landing, listening. She must have been right in her assumption, because she heard sounds coming from down the corridor.

As she turned and continued her search, her young brain returned to the thing that she couldn't quite grasp. Her Mum, as she had been calling Ginny for some time now, was going to die. Mortality and death was still a distant concept to her, even though her parents had been lost to her. They had died before she was self-aware, so they didn't really factor in. She just couldn't imagine losing someone like that, and wouldn't accept the fact. It wasn't denial, because there was nothing she could deny; rather, it was incomprehension.

Her Ravenclaw intellect, though, told her that Harry was in a similar state. She was aware that he and Ginny mostly avoided the topic, at least in her presence, and she wasn't sure if that was good for any of them. As she came upon her destination, her thoughts were going a little beyond her scope, so they slowly returned to more normal seven-year-old topics—that is, until she reached the open door of the Room of Requirement.

She stood in the doorway and looked in, a little amazed, a little scared, and a little confused at what she saw. Her father had his back to the door; he was standing with his legs spread a little, his arms angled down and away from his body, and his back erect. He had _Animus_ in his right hand, pointing at the floor. A violent red aura was swirling around him, licking angrily at the floor and whipping his robes around in a phantom wind.

Helen sensed great anger coming off of him, which she knew because of the aura, and realized that he was trying desperately to control it. She watched as Harry bowed his head for a moment, the aura flashing to a dark purple, from which she felt a profound sadness, and then back to the angry red again.

Then Harry did something that made the hairs on the back of Helen's stand up: he let out the most anguished cry of rage and loss that she'd ever heard, and probably ever would, and his aura flared out. She moved back from the doorway a little as the aura pulsed throughout the Room of Requirement, incinerating every object present. She silently cast a Protego in case it got out of hand, watching as the sleek bronze wall sprang up around her.

When she looked back into the Room, she could see that Harry had begun a complicated dance of twirling and jabbing his sword. He leapt, ducked, dove, and twisted as he brandished the sword, changing hands with it every so often. The red swath that was his aura slowly decreased in size as he did this. Suddenly, though, it flashed purple again, doubling in size.

Harry paused for a microsecond, and then hurled _Animus_ at the far wall. The blade rocketed through the air, fairly whistling along its course. Harry Apparated, inside of Hogwarts, to stand in its way. Helen was about to cry out, but he deftly snatched it out of the air, hands capturing the flats of the blade between their palms. The point rested only an inch in front of his forehead.

She watched as Harry continued his dance of death, and he repeated the sword-throwing action many times; each time, he would stop it just before it embedded itself into his face. Helen was growing more and more anxious watching this, and was about to say something to him.

She jumped about a foot in the air, though, and whirled with her wand in hand when a soft voice from behind said, "I'm glad I could find you, Miss Potter."

"Sir," she said as she put her wand away. She cocked her head at him. "What did you need me for?"

Dumbledore looked over her head into the Room of Requirement. He observed Harry quietly for a few moments, and then looked back at Helen. "Walk with me?"

Helen glanced back into the Room for a last time, watching Harry continue to hurl his sword around, and then nodded to the Headmaster. She fell in step beside him as he started away from the door.

"Let me preface this by saying that you're a smart girl, Helen," he started. She blushed a bit, but continued to listen. "Probably one of the smartest I've ever seen." The blush deepened. "You've noticed something, haven't you?" he finally asked.

Helen didn't respond immediately. Of course she'd noticed something—she'd noticed a lot of things, actually, not the least of which was what she had just seen.

"Sir…yes, I have…" she said; she looked up at the old man as they continued their stroll through the empty corridors.

Dumbledore nodded, staring straight ahead, and clasped his hands behind his back. "And what, might I ask, have you noticed?"

Helen was silent for a moment as she struggled with her thoughts. She knew what she had felt, especially over the past month, but putting that into words was difficult for her. She was perceptive, yes, but her vocabulary was still limited.

She fingered the wand in her pocket, looking for inspiration. "Something changed, sir… I don't really know how to say it. Daddy isn't the same person."

Dumbledore didn't smile; in fact, his face seemed to grow darker. "I thought it might have just been an old man's worries, but I see that you seem to see it as well."

"See what, sir?"

"The difference in Harry, Helen."

So she hadn't been wrong in sensing something. The Headmaster himself had noticed it. It made her feel a little better, but not very much, because they were talking about someone she loved. And it had all started that night…

"What happened after the wedding, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore broke stride almost imperceptibly, but Helen noticed it. It must have been the directness of her question, because she couldn't see any other reason to cause it.

"I'm rather surprised that you also were able to trace it back to that night." He looked sidelong at her. "I'm guessing you didn't believe his little story about slipping and falling."

She shook her head. Of course she didn't. The way Harry had avoided everyone's eyes, the fact that it looked remarkably like a fist, and the fact that the castle should have been dry were all things she had thought about. No, he hadn't slipped. He'd been hit. It angered her a little bit that he wouldn't tell anyone about it, but the person who did it angered her more. If only she could get her hands on them…

"Nope. I'm pretty sure he was hit."

Dumbledore nodded again, pursing his lips. "That is the very conclusion that I reached, my dear."

"Who would hit him on his _wedding day_, sir?" She clenched her fists.

"That is the great mystery, Helen; there certainly are some clues, though."

Yes, there were. She nodded her head, more to herself than to Dumbledore. "Like the two people that left the table."

Dumbledore gave her another sidelong glance; his brows were furrowed a bit. "Exactly."

This gave her the opportunity to ask something that had been bothering her for some time—since before the summer. "Sir…what were Harry, Ron, and Hermione like before I came to Hogwarts?"

"You mean, together?" Helen nodded. Dumbledore took his hands from behind his back and scratched the tip of his nose for a moment. He grimaced slightly.

"I don't know if I've ever seen a closer three than they were. They seemed to be—perfect, yes—for each other. Friendship that powerful usually takes quite some time to establish, but by the end of their first year together, they were as united as anyone I've ever come into contact with."

"Was there something that happened in that first year to do that?" Helen desperately wanted to know some of Harry's history, because she always thought the books had stuff about him were probably wrong.

"Well, a couple things, actually. The first occurred on Halloween. A…misguided Professor let a troll into the school, and Hermione was attacked by it. Harry and Ron went to her aid, and in an impressive display of tactics and strategy for first years, they knocked it out. In essence, they most likely saved Hermione's life that day."

"So they were really close after that?"

"Yes, but there was one other thing that sealed their bond." His eyes narrowed at the word 'sealed'. "The three of them worked together to protect an item of great importance. They held each other's lives in their hands, and they came out relatively unscathed."

"The Philosopher's Stone incident?"

Dumbledore looked at her as they turned a corner. "How did you know—ah, of course, you've read about it, no doubt?"

Helen dipped her head in the affirmative. "And after that they were great friends?"

"Before that, Helen, they were great friends. After that, they were inseparable. I'm certain that they got each other through school, and the war."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Well, Hermione has a prodigious intellect, much like yourself, but for a time she was singularly devoted on her studies. I think she would have burnt out, but Harry and Ron showed her how to have fun.

"Ron…well, Ron has always had some motivational issues when it came to his studies, and he probably would not have liked his OWL or NEWT scores if it had not been for Harry and Hermione. She pushed Ron into studying harder, and Harry was there to provide some fallback support.

"And Harry—he's had a great many personal issues to deal with over the past seven years. There were little spats every now and then, usually with Ron, but he and Hermione held Harry up from falling during his darkest times."

Dumbledore stopped in front of a panoramic window that looked out on the Forbidden Forest, hands clasped once again behind his back. Helen stood in front of the glass, watching the swaying of the dark trees.

"Honestly, Helen, I doubt Harry would be with us today if it weren't for those two."

Helen's eyes caught movement at the edge of the tree line. She wrinkled her forehead in thought. "How so?"

Dumbledore closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the glass. The movement caught Helen's eyes, and she looked up at it. It surprised her to see such a …normal gesture from the wise old man.

"There have been a great many disappointments in his life, Helen. Many people let him down over his time as a student here, me notwithstanding." He drew back from the glass and turned his gaze down to her. She met it. "Without the support of Ron and Hermione, I fear two things could have happened." Helen lifted an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

"One of the years he probably just wouldn't have come back, and who knows if we could have found him."

She waited again. When he wasn't forthcoming, she asked, "What about the other thing?"

"I know you'll probably disagree…but he may have become the next Voldemort." Helen's brown eyes clouded and she turned once again to look out the window. She thought she saw a flash of white and a horse-like figure in the trees.

She sensed Dumbledore looking at the top of her head when she didn't disagree. "No…" she said slowly, "I'm not going to disagree." She took a breath. "I can't."

"Oh?" Dumbledore sounded somewhat surprised to her.

"The night the Death Eaters came to St. Mungo's…Harry did some things that I won't ever forget." Her eyes searched the grounds, as if looking for a way to express what she was trying to say. "There was darkness in him that night."

Dumbledore turned back to the view. "Yes, there was. That's what I was talking about. If Hermione and Ron weren't there to keep him grounded as his situation grew more and more grim, he might have turned away from the Light."

Helen shrugged. "What does it matter now, though? That's in the past."

"Indeed it is, Helen. But I return to my earlier point. Who do you think hit him?"

Helen thought she had a pretty good idea, but still she scoured her memories of the last few months of her life. They had been wonderful, but there were certain times she'd gotten weird vibes from his two friends. They hadn't seemed at all like the two people Dumbledore had just described. There was only one way to find out if she was right.

"Ron," she said, simply.

"Again, I am not alone in my conclusions." He suddenly knelt next to her. She turned to him, and he placed his hands on her shoulders. Slightly twinkling blue yes met troubled brown ones. "What do you think is going on?" The seriousness of his voice was a contradiction to the sparkle in his eyes.

She was a little confused—why would he be asking _her_ this? Surely he must be able to figure out more for himself than she ever could. "I don't know, sir." Her eyes narrowed the tiniest of bits. "You've known them all for a lot longer than I have."

"Yes, I have, but you have the unique position of seeing all of this from a relatively new perspective. All of my thoughts are tempered by things that have already happened."

She looked over his head, briefly, before meeting his eyes again. "I don't know—I just don't know. It's all very weird. Sometimes…sometimes I feel like I caused it all?" It was a more of a question than a statement.

"What do you mean?"

"I've never felt comfortable around Hermione or Ron, sir. They've always seemed…cold to me. The Ron and Hermione I know are a lot different than who you described for me."

Dumbledore looked at the floor for a moment, and then stood up, facing the window once again. "I see." She noticed that his eyes had stopped their usual sparkling.

"Sir, I have a question."

"And what may that be?"

"I don't know if it's my place to ask this, but where did Mum fit into their friendship?"

He blew his breath out from between his lips. "That gets a little more complicated…the three of them did very little with her until their fifth year. It was then that she realized, I think, that the only to make Harry see what she wanted him to see was to be more visible."

"She wanted him to see her feelings for him?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Over the next two years, her and Harry grew closer and closer. From what I've been told, Harry tried to keep her away from the fighting during this past year, but she wouldn't be stopped. They grew closer and closer, as the war grew more and more intense. You could say that 'Golden Trio' had become the 'Gryffindor Four' by the time they went face-to-face with Voldemort."

"So the friendship they had with her was as strong as the friendship they had with each other?"

Dumbledore glanced at her; he had a strange look about his face. "No one's ever had any reason to believe otherwise."

Helen nodded. She hadn't seen anything to the contrary, either. "Alright…well, if you don't mind, sir, I think I'm gonna go back to my room."

The Headmaster smiled. "No, I don't mind. It was a pleasure talking to you, Helen."

"You too, sir," she said, and he turned and left. Her eyes tracked across the darkening grounds one last time, and then she turned and left as well.

Her thoughts occupied her trek back to the suite, and she almost didn't notice the voices when she entered through the portrait. When they penetrated her brain, she stopped, looking around and listening. The door to her parents' room was open, and the voices were coming from there.

"Harry, could you please tell me what's going on?" That was her Mum. Helen felt a little guilty about eavesdropping, but the door _was_ open…

Her father's voice was so quiet Helen could barely hear it. "I'm sorry Ginny…I can't." There was a slight tremor to it.

There was a slamming noise. "_Goddamnit,_ Harry! I can't help you if you keep shutting me out like this!"

"Ginny…"

"No, Harry, don't keep pushing me away. You wouldn't let me before, and I'm not going to let you now."

There was a whisper of cloth and then a creaking of springs—one of them must have sat on the bed. "Things just…got out of hand, alright? I'm not sure how it happened, either."

"What's gotten out of hand, Harry?"

"Ron, Hermione, and I. I don't know when things got so beyond my control."

"What do you mean?" There was that whisper and creak again. Helen presumed her Mum had sat down next to her Dad. "What happened on our wedding night, Harry?"

Helen thought she heard him sigh. "You remember that bruise I had?"

"The one you said you got when you slipped and fell?"

"Yeah, that one. I didn't get it—"

"From falling. Yeah, I figured as much."

There was a silence for a moment. Her father's voice then came through the door again. "You're right; I lied. I didn't want to think about what had just happened. I still don't, but I can't deny it anymore." Helen heard him take a deep breath. "Ron hit me, Ginny."

Another silence, and then the bed creaked slightly. "That prat…" her Mum breathed. "On our wedding day, too. What the hell is wrong with him?"

"He said some things, Ginny, some pretty terrible things. I didn't exactly help the situation, but basically all of it came from him."

"What did he say?"

"He blamed me for ruining your family—"

"What!"

"—and for keeping you away from him. He was being really irrational…he blamed me for your parents' deaths and his alienation from your brothers."

Helen continued to listen, but there was a silence that seemed to stretch for ages. Finally, her Mum spoke up. "And Hermione?"

"Umm…she didn't say anything at all. Actually, now that I think about it, I don't think we've said a word to each other since graduation."

"What happened, Harry? What caused all of this?"

"I wish I knew, Ginny." More silence. "Do you remember when Hermione wanted to talk to me alone, during the school year?"

She must have nodded, because Harry continued. "She said she felt like I was drifting away from her and Ron. She…blamed it mostly on you and Helen."

"That's rubbish."

"I know, and I got really upset with her. I said some stupid things, but I knew she regretted what she said. All of this can't be caused by that alone, and if it is, Ron's more petty than I thought."

"They haven't been to the castle at all this month, Harry." Her Mum's voice was very quiet.

"I know, love…" Her father's voice choked. "What's happening to us?"

"I'm not sure, Harry."

"I miss them." Helen couldn't help but think he was crying by the way his voice sounded.

"I know you do babe, and I do too. Maybe I could try talking to them?"

There was a sniffle. "You'd do that?" Her Mum probably nodded. "I don't know if it will do any good, though. Some of the things we said to each other…" he trailed off.

"Maybe you all just need some time, Harry. The past few months have been full of pretty big things. We ended the war…you adopted Helen…you married me. Maybe they just need some time to adjust, because you aren't the Harry you were before."

"What do you mean?"

"You grew up, Harry. You're no longer that angsty fifteen-year-old that locked himself away at the Dursley's. You matured, and I think you might have left Hermione and Ron behind a little."

"What about you? How come it didn't affect you?"

"I think I knew it was going to happen. With all that you'd been through, and were going through, it had to happen sooner or later." Silence again. "Those memories you showed us…it makes sense that it happened sooner rather than later."

Helen thought back to the first time she met Harry—even though she had been in shock, she could tell that he was overwhelmed with what had happened. She remembered him breaking down as he held her against his chest. She also clearly remembered thinking she wished there were more people in the world like him.

He had continued to visit her at the Pediatrics Ward for months after that, and slowly she knew he was growing to care for her. Then, she had thought she was going to have to go back to the Orphanage, but he again came in and saved the day. Since she had been at Hogwarts, she'd felt like part of a family for the first time in her life. It wasn't something she ever wanted to be without.

Her Mum's voice came through the door. "Just recently, I think you've changed even more. You're acting more and more like a parent and a husband, and that probably made Hermione and Ron uncomfortable."

"Why would it, though? They're savvy enough to understand it." His voice sounded very resigned.

"They didn't see the leap coming, Harry. You went from the person they've always known to an adult version of him in a few weeks."

"So what are you saying? They're still immature and therefore I can't relate to them anymore?"

"No, not exactly…they just haven't had time to get to know you again for who you really are and have become, hun. The bond you three had was so strong because you did _everything_ together."

Helen heard a sigh, which presumably came from Harry. "I haven't really done anything with them besides studying for NEWTS since before we took out Voldemort."

"And therein lies the problem."

"They start Auror training tomorrow. I start teaching, as well."

"So?" her Mum asked.

"Time, Ginny…time. It's something that all three of us won't have in spades for a while. My next opportunity to see them probably won't be until Halloween or maybe even Christmas."

"Oh, come on, that's rubbish. You could Apparate over to the Burrow right now and start to fix things."

There was another silence, and Helen strained to hear, but neither of them was talking. What her Mum said made sense, and she was waiting for her Dad's response.

"I can't, Ginny…"

"And why not?"

"It seems like there's something more going on than just that. Come on…we both know Hermione…she wouldn't let something as stupid as me 'maturing' come between the three of us."

"Then go find out what it is."

"No, I don't think that would work. I'm probably not welcome at the Burrow anymore."

"Why?"

Her Dad's voice choked again. "Ron basically said he never wanted to see me again."

"Yeah, well, we both know how hot-tempered my brother can be. I'm sure he didn't mean it."

"See, that's the thing—he didn't really fly off the handle; well, except for when he hit me. It seemed like he'd been thinking about it for a long time."

"And Hermione said nothing?"

"Not a word. She gave me a weird look after Ron had walked away, but then just followed him."

"You know, Harry, what he said about my family…that's not true."

"I know…but I can't ignore some of the things he said. Like that fact that if I had never known your family, your parents would probably still be alive."

Helen had always wondered what had happened to her Mum's parents. "Harry…they were supporters of the Light; they were in danger anyway. We all were, regardless of whether or not we knew you." Helen nodded to herself in agreement with the words. Of course it wasn't her father's fault that her Mum's parents had died—if they were opposed to Voldemort, they might have died nonetheless.

"And besides, if you had never met my family, you wouldn't have met me." There was a smacking noise, and Helen realized with a blush that she had just listened to them kiss.

"I just don't know what to do, babe."

"Why don't you think on it for a few days, and then maybe next weekend or sometime you can Apparate over to the Burrow and try to work things out."

"I suppose…" her father trailed off, and there was another of the smacking noises. Helen slipped toward her room, away from the open door. She'd heard enough.

----------

The next day—September 1st, 1998—Hogwarts reopened for another year of magical education. The students arrived as they usually did, via the Express, boat, and carriage, and the welcoming feast was as splendid as it normally was.

Harry entered his classroom the following day, somewhat nervous about his first class. He looked at the schedule on his desk—he had the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw first years first thing. He browsed through the textbook—_Defense, Year One_—for a few moments, working out in his mind exactly what he wanted to say. Noise outside the classroom made him look up.

The students started to stream into the classroom. He noticed the looks of awe that most were directing his way. Being only eleven, he was probably somewhat of an icon to most of them. Their childhood had no doubt been checkered by stories of his exploits at and around Hogwarts. He would have to take care of that quickly.

"All right, find a seat. That's it, don't be bashful." He noticed several students had their textbooks out. "Books away, for today, and wands out." Some of the small—he didn't think he had been that small—children threw him curious looks, but they all did as they were told. With a wave of his hand, the door to the classroom flew closed. Several of the students jumped, unaware that he could do magic without his wand.

"Ok, now, my name is Harry Potter and I will be your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." He paused, looking around at the bright, young faces. He wondered what it would be like to be so young and naïve again. A small, fair-skinned, blond-haired girl at the back of the class raised her hand. He pointed at her.

"Did you really stop You-Know-Who?" And there was something else he was going to put a stop to.

"Yes, I really did take _Voldemort_ out," he said, noticing the gasps and the extreme way they flinched. He paced in front of the class. "That is one thing that I will not tolerate in this class—the first step to overcoming your fear of him is being able to say his name." He gave them all piercing looks; his forehead crinkled when he accidentally focused too hard on some of their eyes in his passing sweep. Being so young, their minds were not occluded at all, and he got some static from them.

"Someone much older and wiser than I once told me fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself."

A black-haired boy in the middle of the room raised his hand. Harry nodded at him. "But it's ok to fear him, right?"

Harry nodded. "Oh, without a doubt, having some fear is ok. But you can't let it paralyze you. Voldemort," he said, noticing that a few of the students got hard looks on their faces, refusing to flinch, "was an evil murderer. However, he ruled through fear; it was his greatest weapon.

"He preached to his own followers about blood prejudices, yet he himself was a halfblood. The hypocrisy with which he ruled was astounding—his real name isn't even Voldemort."

"It's not?" one of the girls piped up.

Harry shook his head. "It's Tom Marvolo Riddle." Harry took out his wand and wrote the name in fire in the air, much like the memory from the diary had done in his second year. He waved his wand again, and the letters rearranged themselves into _I am Lord Voldemort_. "See?"

There were some understanding nods, some stares at the fire-writing, and some people that looked like they were having trouble accepting it.

"Look," Harry addressed them, "I'm not going to deny the fact that Voldemort was probably one of the most dangerous wizards to ever live, but at some point you have to ask yourself if all the smoke and mirrors that surround him are really needed.

"He was a Dark Wizard, yes, but he has been defeated; twice, actually. They come and go—they always have and they always will. There hasn't been a time yet where they have won. There will always be wizards like your Headmaster around to stop them."

"And like you," one of the boys said.

Harry smiled softly, but shook his head. "It's true—I did deliver the final blow, but I had a lot of help along the way. Without my friends…and mentors…it wouldn't have been possible."

The girl who asked the very first question spoke up. "But isn't that how it always is? I'm sure Professor Dumbledore had help when he defeated Grindelwald."

Harry was surprised that she knew that, but even more surprised at the truth of what she said. He conceded the point with a smile. "Yes, you're right." He paused, sweeping the class with his eyes once again; he leaned back against his desk, folding his arms across his chest.

"Alright…let's get started then. Who can tell me the name of a spell they've heard of—relating to defense, of course?"

A sandy-haired boy, who Harry thought he recognized, raised his hand. "And your name is?" Harry asked.

"Patrick Finnegan, sir." Of course—Seamus's little brother.

"Very nice to meet you, Patrick. You can call me Mr. Potter or Professor—please avoid 'sir'," he said, addressing the whole class. Many nodded. "And what spell have you heard of?"

"_Protego_, Professor."

Harry raised his wand called out the incantation. He didn't need to; in fact, he could do it without moving or speaking, but that would not be very instructional for these young wizards and witches. A lustrous gold magical barrier flew up around him, pulsing with the amount of energy it contained. The first years stared in awe at it.

"Before the end of this year, all of you will be able to cast this. It is one of the most useful spells that you will know—essentially, it can stop almost any spell if you are powerful enough." He let the shield fade away. "Any others?"

The girl who had spoken twice already raised her hand. "What's your name, honey?"

"Melanie Brown, Mr. Potter." Now he knew where the blond hair came from. She must be Lavender's younger sister.

He smiled at her. "What spell do you know?"

"A few, actually," she said, which got a few snickers from the rest of the class. She turned bright red, but did her best to ignore them.

"Alright, let's hear them one at a time, Melanie." Harry refolded his arms, waiting.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," she stated. It was an odd choice for a defense spell, but Harry's own history had proven it to be useful.

"That is more Professor Flitwick's territory as it is really a charm, but it can be useful." Harry smirked, and demonstrated the spell. He pointed his wand at Melanie, whose eyes widened, and incanted. She slowly and gracefully rose into the air. He stopped her about three feet above her desk. Her nervous look turned into a bright smile.

"Normally, the spell is harmless. Its main use is for hovering things too heavy or too big to carry." He gently placed her back into her seat.

"However," he continued as he pointed his wand at the bench on the side of the room. "It can also be used as a weapon." He incanted the spell once again and watched as the large wooden bench rose into the air; a flick of his wrist sent it careening toward the back wall of the classroom. There were a few gasps and even a scream, but Harry had everything under control. They didn't know it, but they were all shielded from any accidents by an invisible barrier he had set up.

The bench crashed into the wall with a sickening crunch, shattering as only ageless hardwood can. Sharp splinters went flying in every direction, and the students cringed away from them, but they bounced harmlessly of the sides or skittered over the top of the shield Harry had placed.

"_Reparo_," he said, and watched as the bench flew back together. With another hovering charm, he placed it, good-as-new, back against the sidewall.

"How come the pieces didn't hit us?" Melanie asked.

Harry tapped where he knew the edge of the shield was with his wand, and it changed from clear-colored to having a red hue.

"What's that?" another girl asked.

"That—" he started, looking at the new girl with a questioning look.

"Susan Bell, Professor," she said.

Harry nodded. "That is a NEWT level shield spell, something that you will learn in my class seven years from now." Harry turned back to Melanie. "You said you knew more spells?"

She nodded. "Yes, Mr. Potter. _Reducto_," she stated.

"Indeed," he said. He raised his wand toward an empty bookcase, made sure the shield was still up over the class, and cast the spell. The curse obliterated the wooden structure, much to the shock and surprise of the first years, but Harry fixed it with another _Reparo_ spell.

"That is one we will get to either at the end of next year or at the beginning of your third year." He looked back to Melanie. "Any more?"

"_Expecto Patronum_," she said.

"Yes, but I'm curious, did your parents tell you about all of these?" Harry asked her. The rest of the class turned their heads to look at her. Their parents certainly hadn't been forthcoming about any spells. She blushed and dipped her head a bit, shaking it.

"Actually, it was my older sister, Lavender, who told me most of them. When I showed her my letter, she saw that you were going to be my teacher, and told me some of what to expect."

Harry inclined his head. That made sense. He smiled at his class—_his_ class—and raised his wand. "_Expecto Patronum_," he called out. Several students near the front leaned back front the intense glow it created, and they all shielded their eyes. Prongs leapt from his wand and pranced around the room for a few moments. Harry could barely look at it, for fear of being blinded. Even outside on a sunny day, it would be hard to stare at. There were some _oohs_ and _aahs_, but they faded as the corporeal spell did.

Harry tried to ignore the looks of pure awe he was receiving. "That is a spell that normally is taught to NEWT classes, but I think I'm going to make a change in the curriculum. I learned it in my 3rd year, and there's no reason why the rest of you can't."

Susan spoke up again. "But aren't you really strong? Magically, I mean?" Harry laughed softly at the innocence of the question. He didn't think they were quite ready to see his true power or _Animus_, but there were some things he wanted straightened out.

"I may have a lot of magical strength, yes, but a lot of the ability to do magic successfully comes from intent. For instance, even if I had _infinite_ reserves of magical power, I wouldn't be able to cast a simple _Protego_ if I didn't want to or need to somehow." Some of the students nodded their heads in understanding.

"The Patronus charm is a difficult spell, but it doesn't require a lot of strength to accomplish. It requires a focused effort, which can be hard when preoccupied or distracted. In the past, they've waited so long to teach students it because they think that older minds are more organized, but I think that's rubbish. You just need the proper motivation," he finished, with a smile.

Once again, he looked to Melanie. "Any more?" He chuckled when she blushed again and nodded. "Well…how about it?"

"_Finite Incantantem_," she intoned.

"Ah, yes, one of the most important spells, especially from a defensive standpoint." He touched his wand tip to the invisible shield again, causing it to turn and stay red. "Very often, it is important in a duel or battle to end your opponent's spells. Few wizards have the presence of mind to cast the simple _Finite_, but it is very effective." He pointed his wand at the shield. "_Finite Incantantem_," he said, and watched as the shield fizzled momentarily and then faded.

"The only thing that you have to be careful about with that spell is that it must be more powerful than the spell you are trying to end. _Finite_ is another spell we will cover this year; you will probably come across it in more than just this class, as well."

"What's next, Melanie?" he asked, and smiled at her reaction.

She laughed a tiny bit and said, "_Expelliarmus_."

"I was wondering who would bring that one up. Another very useful spell, as long as your opponent needs a wand to cast his or her spells." He looked around the room for a moment, and pursed his lips. "Why don't you stand up, Melanie? Grab your wand while you're at it."

Harry could tell that she was new with a wand, because she kept readjusting her grip as she slowly stood up from her chair. She looked about nervously; she had no idea what her Professor was planning.

"Alright, I want you to cast the spell on me." She looked up sharply. She started to protest, but Harry interrupted her. "No, no, it's alright. Just point your wand straight at me and incant '_Expelliarmus'_. The key is to really want to disarm me; you have to really want to get my wand away from me for it to work. Ok?"

She nodded, and visibly took a deep breath, which steadied her slightly shaking hand. She leveled the wand at Harry's chest, paused for a moment, and yelled, "_Expelliarmus!_"

There was a small, faint trace of the spell as it flitted across the room, and Harry felt a slight tug on his wand, which was only held loosely in his hand. Melanie's face immediately fell when she realized the spell hadn't worked.

"Tell me, Melanie, did you visualize my wand flying from my hand before you cast it?" She shook her head. "Did you _really want_ me to be disarmed?" She shook her head a little slower this time, and Harry could almost see the light bulb of comprehension go off in her eyes. "Try that this time. Cast it again."

The young blond leveled her wand at Harry once again, and this time she paused for a little longer. Her face set in a hard line, and she yelled the incantation again. This time, the magic was very visible as it crossed the room, and Harry felt his wand slip from his grasp. He watched it fly across the room, where Melanie deftly caught it. She had a triumphant grin on her face. Several of her classmates cheered and whooped, and she blushed.

She walked to the front of the room, giving Harry his wand back. He smiled down at her. She returned to her seat. Harry raised his eyebrows at her.

"Umm…_Stupefy_," she said.

"Another good spell. This one has the power to knock your opponent out, which ends normal duels. Weaker castings, or partially blocked ones, will slow them down or give them a terrible headache, which are both still advantageous." Harry cast the spell at the wall, not really wanting to knock any of the eleven-year-olds out. A bright red streak flew across the room, splashing against the stone. There was a small scorch mark where it hit.

"This is one such spell where magical strength is a definite benefit, more so than intent. Depending on how much stronger than your opponent you might be, you could actually cast it right through their shield. We should be learning that one toward the end of this year." He glanced at Melanie again. "Any more?"

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then finally said, "The Killing Curse." There were a few heads whipped in her direction, but most of the students either didn't know what it was or chose not to react.

"I was wondering when _that_ one would come up, as well," Harry said. He went around his desk and sat down, steepling his hands underneath his chin as he regarded his class. "Does anyone know the incantation for it?"

Melanie, Susan, Patrick, and another boy were the only four that raised their hands. Harry called on the second boy, whose name he did not know.

"Yes, your name is?"

"Henry Crane, Professor." He had thick, curly, brown hair, and was wearing wire-frame glasses.

"What is the incantation?"

He looked around for a moment, and then said, barely above a whisper, "_Avada Kedavra_."

"Yes, you are correct. If I might ask, though, how did you know it?"

"My Dad is an Auror, Professor; I've heard him talk about it before."

"I see…" Harry said. His eyes swept over the class again. He noticed that they were paying him rapt attention. He seemed to be doing fairly well for his first class ever (if he didn't count any of the DA meetings).

"_Avada Kedavra_ is based almost purely in intent. I've seen it cast to very little effect—maybe a nosebleed, nothing more. The caster has to really want, and I mean really want—almost lust after—the death of the person they are casting it on to be successful."

The boy, Henry, spoke up. "Why is it called an Unforgivable, Professor?

"Because it is exactly that, Henry. The spell is almost impossible to block or counter, and if it's successful, it's final. It separates the soul from the body, and there's no reversing that. No amount of wishing or willing can undo that kind of damage."

The class had grown silent, perhaps noticing the slightly quieter voice in which Harry was speaking. All of them knew that he had fought in the war, so they all guessed that he had seen it be successful many times. It was one thing being taught something from a textbook, but to hear it from someone who had experienced it…several of them got goose bumps as they listened to him.

Just then, the signal for the end of the period came, and Harry stood up from his desk. "Alright, this has been a very good first class for you all. Wouldn't you agree?" There were many appreciative nods and smiles, and Harry was glad to see it. "That is a good thing. For next class, I'd like you to look over the first chapter in your textbook." It wasn't a lot to ask of them, so no one complained. "Enjoy the rest of your lessons, and I'll see you in two days."

Harry watched as they filed from the room. Melanie gave him a look that almost made him laugh out loud—he seemed to have an admirer already. As soon as the last student was out of the room and the door had clicked shut, Harry slumped back into his chair, closed his eyes, and heaved a sigh.

It was so hard to keep the façade of the warm, happy teacher when his brain was a maelstrom of thoughts and problems. His personal life was just that—personal—but it was hard to separate it out when it dominated his mind. Harry was slipping into a depression.

----------

Nagini had finally made it to her destination after many months of traveling. As she slithered over the cool rocks of the island of Azkaban, her tiny brain was singularly focused on one thing, just as it had been for a long time now: get back to her master.

She had traveled from down south somewhere, where a huge stone hole went down into the ground. Funny looking metal things had continuously been going through that hole, and she was fascinated by the way the sun had glinted off their shiny tops. Then, without warning, she had heard the strong and irresistible calling of her master. She knew that he was very far away, but she had to get to him.

Since that day during the spring, she had been moving north toward where she knew he was. All throughout the rest of the spring and into the summer, she had slithered north across the entire countries of England and Scotland. She had reached a roadblock, in the form of the North Sea. Azkaban Prison was situated several miles off the northern coast of Scotland. Prisoners were taken there by boat, but those boats were much too small for a snake of her size to hide in without being seen.

So, she had had to wait for almost a week before the chance came. Every two weeks, the prison received shipments of supplies by boat, which docked briefly at the coast before heading across to the island. Somehow, Nagini knew this, and when the ship came, she slithered into the hold, out of sight.

She had successfully made it, and now she rested by the entrance as night fell across the rocky environment. Her scales blended well, but she couldn't risk being seen. Her master _needed_ her. Finally, when true dark came, she entered the prison. It wasn't hard to do, as the front door was always propped open. However, she would have to wait for a guard to open the inner security door to go any further into the place.

She could almost taste her master he was so close. After another hour or so of waiting, a guard exited through the door. She went through it, just as he walked past, as fast as she could, and neither that guard nor the one at the security desk noticed the door bounce back twice before clicking shut once again.

She was in a long hallway now, with many doors on both sides. Her small heart was pumping very fast because he was only meters away. The numbers on the right side went from 002, to 004, to 006, and then finally to 008. She stopped outside of this door and snaked her tongue once. Yes, this was definitely it.

How to get in, though? She studied the thing for a moment, and noticed that it seemed to be held fast at a point about halfway up the right side. She coiled herself, tensing her muscles, and then struck. The force of the blow forced the rusty padlock apart, and the door eased open.

She slid into the room, and was as overjoyed as a snake could be to see her master lying there. He was bent at an odd angle on the bed, his eyes opened unseeingly into the dark room. She got the bulk of her body up on the bed and rested her head just below his chin. Slowly, very slowly, the room was filled with a sickly green light. It seemed to be coming from her mouth.

She didn't flinch or move though, because she knew she had to remain absolutely still for this to work. The light got brighter and brighter—Nagini felt like something was being pulled from her; it wasn't a pleasant feeling, but still, she didn't move.

There was a sigh, almost like pressure being released, and Nagini went limp. The light faded, much quicker than it had come. With a shuddering, gasping sucking noise, the man on the bed took his first breath in almost four and a half months. The eyes blinked once, and then again, and he slowly sat up.

His back was horribly stiff, but he didn't notice it as his eyes went to the limp snake next to him. He smiled to himself. The snake had done her job. Nagini had died, and now he, Voldemort, was alive once again. He was never properly dead, but it was as close to death as he'd ever been, or ever wanted to be again. He may only have one-seventh of a soul left, but he sure as hell was going to protect it. Death was the only thing he feared.

He sent out a wavering tendril of his magic, and noticed that the fools hadn't even put him in a high security cell. He wouldn't even have to break out—he could just Apparate away. Not that he was complaining, though; it would be better if it went unknown that he was out. For now, at least.

He stood up, stretched his muscles briefly, and Apparated away. The only thing that was left in cell 008 in Azkaban Prison was the limp body of a dead snake.

----------

Like it always does, time continued to flow. Summer passed into fall; the days grew shorter and colder. As September faded into October, and then October into November, Harry settled more and more comfortably into the routine of teaching. He enjoyed what he was doing, and he seemed to be good at it. Even though he would never admit it, he heard plenty of people say that his class was the most interesting and exciting, and he privately agreed with them.

However, he was living somewhat of a double life. The smiling, humorous teacher his students were seeing was not his true state of mind; in fact, the only people that saw it were Ginny, Dumbledore and Helen. Since Helen and him continued to train a bit with the Headmaster, both she and the old man noticed Harry's newfound reticence. When he was outside of class or meals, he would rarely speak. Often, Helen went days without hearing a single word from her father.

Ginny, who was taught by Harry and therefore was exposed to both sides, tried to get Harry to open up, or to visit the Burrow like he'd said he might, but he wouldn't. Ron and Hermione had said nary a word to either of them since their wedding, and it was beginning to grate on Ginny as well. Her other brothers had been to see her several times since school had begun, but Ron had all but disappeared. She knew he and Hermione were extremely busy with their Auror training, but that was no excuse. She cringed when she thought about it so directly, but she probably only had a few months left. She didn't want to leave Ron like that.

That was another thing that she and Harry had stopped talking about—her condition. She wasn't necessarily opposed to it, but it probably wasn't a good idea in the long run. She hadn't exactly come to terms with it yet, so he couldn't have either, but they seemed to be mutually avoiding it. She continued to take her potions and rarely experienced any pain, but she did notice that she would get out of breath much easier than she used to. It scared her, to be faced with mortality like that, but it worried her more that she didn't really have anyone to talk about it with. She could try bringing it up with Harry again, but she was afraid of how he'd react.

Harry, on the other hand, was so busy with teaching and training that he really didn't take the time to think about the effects of his withdrawal on other people. His mental, magical, and physical fitness had drastically improved, as well as Helen's, but that would just be a waste of time if he didn't face his issues. He might look and act fit, but he was slowly wasting away where it counted: his heart and soul.

The fact that he hadn't spoken to Hermione or Ron in almost four months bothered him in ways he couldn't even comprehend, and as the holiday season rolled around, other people besides the three closest to him began to notice, too. He couldn't just Apparate over there, though—Ron would probably hex him, and then where would they be? He wasn't going to duel Ron, or Hermione for that matter, so he didn't do anything. He just let the time between the last time he'd seen them and the present grow.

One week before Christmas, classes let out for three weeks, and Harry was looking forward to some time where he could attempt to sort things out. His depression had deepened, and if he didn't do something about it soon he might never be able to get out of it.

As the last thestral-pulled carriage turned out of sight, Harry turned back and walked into the nearly empty castle. The silence was familiar, but deafening. He needed to talk to Dumbledore.


	15. The Life You Leave Behind

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: To the anonymous flamer, thank you for reminding me why I often detest humanity. I was starting to forget... anyways, enjoy!**

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Chapter 15: The Life You Leave Behind

Hogwarts had always seemed inviting. There was some mysterious, ancient quality about it that felt benevolent, and was warm and friendly. The castle's magical saturation partly contributed to that, but it really was the memories that inhabited that castle. Over a thousand years of magical youth had been through it; they had eaten fantastic food in the Great Hall; they had watched as their favorite Quidditch players battled it out on the pitch; they had sat up with each other late into the night in their common rooms, studying or just enjoying the company. The corridors were literally alive with the voices of a millennium of wizards and witches, and if one listened carefully enough, hearing them wasn't hard.

It was through these corridors that Harry was now walking, and he couldn't help but shiver and pull his robe tighter around him. The depth of winter was never pleasant in northern Scotland, but it seemed, to Harry at least, that this year's season was the worst. A cold permeated the air, and it was more than just the temperature. Everywhere Harry looked, he was plagued with memories; himself, Ron, Hermione, and Neville were running from Fluffy; himself figuring out the clue from the Golden Egg in the prefect's bath; Fred and George making their triumphant exit over Umbridge. The memories were there, and they were vivid, but they felt detached.

He felt like they were from another life, and that things had inexplicably gone from bad during the war to worse now. His seven years at Hogwarts, while filled with difficult times, were the best years of his life. He had shared something—something special—with a few people, and that feeling was lost to him. As he rounded the corner and saw the Gargoyle, he remembered when Dobby had thrown Lucius Malfoy in the opposite direction. He seemed to be doing that more and more these days. Everything would remind him of something that had happened.

Harry had recently realized a truth: people don't appreciate what they have until they lose it. Hermione and Ron had supported him in invaluable ways over the years, and now that they were seemingly unreachable, he felt lost. He missed Hermione's words of wisdom and constant worrying, and he missed the way Ron could often make him laugh. Helen and Ginny were great—spectacular, really—but there was a void in him that was slowly filling up with poison.

That poison was his thoughts, which were all the things he wasn't saying to anyone. He'd had a hard time justifying getting up in the morning on a few days, and it was slowly eroding away at his emotional reserves. He had always considered himself to be strong and independent, but he realized that he'd always had support in some form or another in school. His relationship with Ginny was good, but her friendship was different than what he had shared with Ron and Hermione. He loved her with all his heart, but there were just some things he couldn't talk about with her.

One of those things was her affliction, even though he used to be able to. In his depression, he tended to avoid subjects that clouded his mind, and that was one of them. He knew it was bad, he knew that it was hurting their relationship, and he knew that he should be more attentive to the time they shared with each other, but his growing apathy prevented that. He had always been a man of action, but there seemed to be little to get excited about these days.

The grinding of stone upon stone interrupted his soul-searching, and he looked up to see the Gargoyle moving aside. With a great, resigned sigh, he mounted the revolving stairs and stared straight ahead as they bore him upwards. They ground to a halt and he stepped off, noticing that the door to the Headmaster's office was ajar. He pushed it open with the flat of his palm, stepped through, and saw that Dumbledore had his back to him. The old man was facing the bay window behind his desk, hands clasped behind his back.

Harry watched him for a moment; Dumbledore must have heard him come in but still, he didn't move or acknowledge Harry's presence. Harry moved toward one of the plush chairs near the desk.

Suddenly, Dumbledore spoke. "It's been a long time, Harry."

As Harry sat down, he asked, "Since what, Albus?"

Dumbledore still hadn't turned or moved, but answered. "Since you've been up here."

"I see you every day, Albus."

Harry watched the back of Dumbledore's head as it shook a little. "That's not what I meant, Harry, and you know it."

Harry looked down. He did know what the Headmaster was talking about, and felt slightly guilty, but that strange apathy was overriding it. He just didn't really care. Movement caught his eye, and he looked back up.

Dumbledore had taken off his half-moon spectacles and was placing them on the windowsill. He brought his hands to his face, and even though his back was still to him, Harry could tell that he was rubbing his eyes.

"Look, Harry…you know I'm always here for you, right?" There was a silence following that, in which Harry didn't respond. He was thinking about all of the conversations he'd had with the man. When it had stretched on for quite some time, Dumbledore cocked his head. "Harry?"

Harry shook his head, as if to clear it. "Yes, I know it." Harry rubbed his own eyes, trying to get the dull ache out from his head…and his heart. "It's hard, though."

Dumbledore finally turned around and moved to stand by his desk. Harry almost did a double take—he'd never seen him without his glasses. He looked so much older, so much more worn than when he was wearing them that Harry was sure, for an instant, he'd missed the passage of twenty years.

"I know it is. Believe me, I know." Harry met his eyes, and noticed with that same apathetic sense that the bright blue eyes were not sparkling. As he thought about it, he did not know when he'd last seen that welcome twinkle. Dumbledore sat down and stared at Harry—well, not at him, as Harry noticed, but over his head.

"Have I ever told you about how I defeated Grindelwald?" Harry thought that was an odd twist in the conversation. He shook his head.

Dumbledore smiled ruefully to himself. He was still looking somewhere over Harry's head. "No, I don't suppose I would have. I haven't really ever told anyone."

"Why not?" It seemed like a logical question to Harry.

Dumbledore's eyes focused on Harry's. "Some things happened that were…unpleasant." Harry raised an eyebrow.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, reclining it slightly. He looked very reflective. "Before I met him that night…I was cocky and arrogant. Probably was the influence of Merlin's blood." The old man looked down at his desk. "Have you ever seen me be arrogant, Harry?"

Harry thought back over the years. There had been times when Dumbledore seemed confident—no, that wasn't the right word. Harry's memories zeroed in on the confrontation the Headmaster had had with that Auror, Dawlish. The Auror had tried to apprehend him, but Dumbledore had pretty much told him to step aside or be hurt. Arrogant wasn't the right word.

"I think you were more…knowing," was the only way Harry could put it. He looked down as well. "When you fought Tom in the atrium…you were sure and relaxed, but it wasn't arrogance."

They both looked back into each other's eyes at the same time. "I'm glad that you can see that, because arrogance cost me dearly that night with Grindelwald."

Harry was intrigued; he'd never heard the Headmaster sound so resigned before. "What happened?"

"Grindelwald was unlike Tom, in that he was a sniveling little coward, whereas Tom usually wasn't afraid to stand and fight." That was news to Harry, as it seemed to him that Voldemort had indeed run from Dumbledore at the Ministry. "I know what you're thinking, Harry…but, believe me, Tom was no coward." Harry's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"Tom was a strategist—he knew when to cut his losses and leave. Grindelwald…well, he was just afraid that he'd lose." Dumbledore closed his eyes and reclined further into his chair. "I banked on that, and it cost me."

"I believed that because I was so powerful, Grindelwald would be too frightened and either run or make a critical error and I'd get the upper hand. My wife—" He must have heard the tendons creak in Harry's neck as his head whipped up, because he cut off in mid-sentence. Dumbledore peered out through half-lidded eyes at Harry.

"Yes, Harry, my wife. It's a little known fact that I was married, and I would appreciate it if you didn't share it with anyone."

Harry shook his head slowly. "I won't…but why shouldn't people know?"

"Because then they'd know of my greatest failure." The old man's eyes slipped closed once again.

"Anyways," he began again, after a long silence, "my wife insisted that she come with me that night. She was by no means weak, but her magical prowess did not compare to Grindelwald's, or mine for that matter." Harry wasn't sure where this was going. He had come up here to talk about something else entirely, it seemed.

"My arrogance overrode any judgment I may have had, and I let her come. I _knew_ for sure that I could protect her if the need arose." Harry watched; a twitch seemed to pass through his face. "We Apparated to the spot we knew he would be, and sure enough, there he was.

"He had a wild look in his eyes, something I don't think I've ever seen since. It was fear…but it was more like a trapped animal. His natural inclination was to run, as that was his nature, but we had put up anti-Apparition wards immediately upon arriving. He knew he was trapped." The Headmaster's face went hard.

"I should have just ended it there. I should have just used _Avada Kedavra_, but I couldn't bring myself to cast it. I know I sound hypocritical, because I was so angry with you when you told me you'd used the curse, but that is the one time _I wish I had_." There was a surprising amount of vehemence in his voice, and Harry could see that he was being completely honest. This was the raw truth.

In an ever-more resigned voice, Dumbledore went on. "I didn't, though. Instead, I played with him. I taunted him. He was getting more and more desperate, and I should have seen it, but I was too busy enjoying myself. Finally, he threw up his strongest shield and put most of the rest of his magical energy into a blasting curse. It was fairly powerful, and I was momentarily stunned by it.

"That was all the time he needed, because he ran to my wife. She wasn't powerful enough to fight him, even in his weakened state. He grabbed her and pulled her in front of him. His last words to me were, 'If I'm going, Albus, so is she.' He put his wand to her forehead, cast a _Reducto_, and blew both her head and his apart."

Harry was shocked. He'd never heard such…bleakness in the Headmaster's voice, and he sure as hell never had a _clue_ that he'd had a wife or that she had been killed. And to be killed like that…right in front of her husband…he wanted to retch at the thought of it.

He didn't know how to respond to something like that. It didn't really improve his current mood, either, and he had no idea why Dumbledore had shared it with him. "Albus…" was all he finally said. It was more of an exhale that sounded like a word, rather than an actual vocalization.

Dumbledore finally opened his eyes again, and stared straight into Harry's, unblinkingly. "I'm sure you're wondering why I've told you that, Harry." Harry could only nod, and as he did so, he noticed the blue eyes were shining, but not with their usual twinkling.

"Like I said, that was my greatest failure." He blinked, and a single tear slipped from his left eye. Harry watched it as it rode a wrinkle down to rest above his upper lip. Another tear slipped from Dumbledore's other eye. "I made a promise to myself, then and there. I would not fail again. In anything." Dumbledore blinked rapidly a few times, and then viciously wiped the wetness from his face. "Do you hear me, Harry? _Anything._"

Harry shrugged slightly. What was the Headmaster getting at? It seemed to be the wrong to do, though, because Dumbledore suddenly sat forward, leaning into his desk.

"Don't you understand? Don't you see, Harry? I've done it again. I've failed again."

Harry was so bewildered that he was barely able to articulate anything. "What…what are you talking about?"

Dumbledore grimaced. "You, Harry; I've failed you, in so many ways." Another tear slipped from his eyes, and he angrily wiped it away. Harry didn't think he'd ever seen this much emotion from him.

"Albus…" Harry said again. He was searching for something to say, and the Headmaster seemed to be content to wait. "I…you…no you haven't."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Yes I have. I've seen it over the past few months. If I hadn't been so selfish…" he trailed off.

Harry's anger rose ever so slightly. "No, you haven't! Why are you talking like this? The only one that's failed here is me!" There, he'd said it. The apathetic void diminished a little. Dumbledore was now looking intently into Harry's eyes, as if searching for something. Harry knew what it was, he realized—the old man was making sure Harry was being completely honest.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair once again. "It seems like we have something in common, Harry."

"Oh?" was all Harry intoned.

"We were blind to our weaknesses until it was too late, or in your case, almost too late."

Inexplicably, Harry's temper snapped. "Goddamnit, stop with all the fucking cryptic bullshit!" It must have been from the stress he was feeling, or the situation with Ginny, because it came out of nowhere. As quickly as it had exploded, it died. Harry looked to Dumbledore and saw something he wasn't expecting: a small smile at the corners of his lips.

"Feel better?"

Harry leaned back in his own chair, rubbing his temples. "No, not really." There was a pause, in which Harry closed his eyes. "Look, I'm sorry…"

"No need to apologize," Dumbledore said, all traces of the smile gone, from the sound of his voice. "You have a lot on your plate right now."

"That's not an excuse—"

"Harry," the Headmaster cut him off. "Don't worry about it." Harry opened his eyes, and saw that the Headmaster's were unfocused, somewhere off to the side.

"Anyways…unlike me, you _can_ do something about it, Harry."

"About what?" Harry asked slowly.

Dumbledore sighed, bringing his gaze up to Harry's. "Don't play stupid—it doesn't suit you." His look seemed to harden a bit. "You know very well what I'm referring to."

After a moment, Harry nodded. He did, but it was hard to make himself believe it. The indifference and the ache seemed to be controlling him these days. It made life seem less worth living.

"Yeah, I guess I do…" he finally said. It wasn't much, but it was what Dumbledore needed to hear.

"Good. Of course, it is entirely your choice to actually _do_ something about it, but take some advice from an old man who has failed once again." Harry looked up as he finished, shaking his head slightly at the last comment. Dumbledore ignored it, however, and continued on. "Don't wait too long, because one day you might find you can't undo it."

Harry looked down and considered his fingernail for a moment. Of course the Headmaster was right, as he most often was, but Harry couldn't help but harbor a little resentment. Who was Dumbledore to tell Harry how to run his life? Harry shook his head, stopping that train of thought. It led down roads he didn't want to travel.

He looked up. He needed to switch gears, so he merely nodded. "Ok…but I have a question for you?"

Dumbledore must have sensed the shift, because he reached behind and plucked his glasses from the windowsill, perching them back on his face. He gave Harry an inquisitive look.

"Have you thought any more about what we talked about…" Dumbledore looked up briefly, as if trying to remember, and then looked back at Harry.

"Refresh my memory, please."

"You know…about Ginny."

"Ah," Dumbledore said, as he nodded. "Yes, I have. Quite a bit, in fact." Harry cocked his head at him. "I think it's going to come down to a decision by you and then by her."

"What do you mean?"

"The more I thought about it, the more I realized that it wasn't really my place to stop or prevent you from trying anything. It's completely up to you and Ginny."

Harry sat up a little straighter. "Is there something that you think will work?"

Dumbledore flinched a tiny bit. He scrutinized Harry over the top of his glasses for a moment. "I don't know what I think, Harry." He sighed. "There is one possibility—it might work. I just don't know."

Harry could barely contain himself. This was the most…anything…he'd felt in a long time now. Something could work? "What, Albus. What might work?"

It looked as if it almost pained Dumbledore to continue. "In your ascended state…you might be able to manipulate her heart in some way…it would probably have to be instinctual."

Harry nodded. "Alright, that sounds fine. That shouldn't be too hard." Harry wasn't looking at Dumbledore anymore; he was too absorbed in his own thoughts of what he might have to do, and how he could make it work.

"Harry." Something in the Headmaster's voice snapped Harry back to reality, and he met Dumbledore's gaze. "I regret that I must remind you that it might not work." The familiar emptiness whipped back into place in Harry. It was gone for only a few seconds. "And you also have to realize that this is more Ginny's choice than yours."

Harry realized that at some point he'd clenched his fists. "Yeah…I know."

Dumbledore glanced at Harry's lands, which were in his lap. "I'm not trying to be negative here, Harry. I'm trying to be realistic."

Harry was closing himself off, much like how he was when he first came into the office. "I know," he said, in a stony voice.

"Talk with Ginny, Harry. Don't rule anything out." Harry nodded once and stood up. He was ready to leave, and he really needed to see Ginny. The office was starting to feel oppressive, so with another nod at the Headmaster, he turned to leave.

"Oh, one more thing, Harry." Harry turned, eyebrow raised. "Hogwarts is hosting a Christmas Eve party this year. I would be honored if you, Ginny, and Helen attended it."

Harry became wary. "Who's going to be there?"

Dumbledore chuckled slightly. "Don't worry—there won't be any press or anyone like that. It's more for the Professors and their families. There will be a few people from the Ministry, but no one that would give you any trouble."

Harry shrugged. "Alright."

Harry watched as Dumbledore leaned forward and narrowed his eyes slightly. "Would you like me to send out two extra invitations?"

Harry became a little angry again. He didn't like people meddling in his life, and he would have thought by now that Dumbledore knew that. "No, Albus, I wouldn't."

"Harry…"

"No. Ok? No." Dumbledore stared at him for a moment, and then nodded once. He began to shuffle some papers on his desk, and Harry turned and left.

----------

"Where have you been?" Ginny asked, as she looked up. Harry had just entered through their portrait hole.

"I needed to talk with Albus for a few minutes," he said, as he sat down next to her. She leaned into his side, closing her textbook. The title read: _NEWT Defense, Year Seven_.

"You know, Harry, your essays are killer."

Harry smirked. "Really? But they aren't very long."

"No…no they aren't. But, length doesn't always indicate difficulty." She glanced sideways at Harry, a slight smile on her crimson lips. "A foot on how theoretical shielding could block an Unforgivable is _not_ easy."

"It wasn't supposed to be," he replied, and snuggled into her a little bit. She smelled…wonderful…like she always did. Her shoulder was quite comfortable, too.

They sat in an easy silence for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth of the other's body. Harry caught himself thinking in the same tired way, and saw that he hadn't exactly been an attentive husband in the past few months. What was happening to him? Why were his thoughts always so…dismal?

"What were you and Albus talking about?" Ginny asked. Her voice sounded sleepy.

Harry shifted upright, wrapping his arm around her waist, drawing her against him. She rested her head against his chest. The slight _thump…thump…_of his heart caused her hair to vibrate slightly.

"He invited us to a Christmas Eve party. Us and Helen."

"Oh, really? Who's going to be there?"

"Mostly the Professors and their families." Ginny nodded against him. Harry laced his fingers through her fiery hair and stroked it gently. He knew she liked that.

"That should be a good time, then. I've always really liked the holiday spirit."

Harry was bemused. He'd never really known that. "You have?"

"Yeah…it's just peaceful. Life slows down a bit, people enjoy themselves a little more, and families come together." Her voice slowed at the end, but anyone but Harry would not have noticed it. He knew what caused it, too.

Ginny's voice was very quiet when she next spoke. "Will Ron and Hermione be at the party, Harry?" Harry was silent for a moment; the only noise was the slight whisper of his hands gliding through her hair.

"I don't know." Harry was torn. He desperately wanted to see them and talk to them, but the more time that passed, the harder it was for him to do just that.

"Do you want them to come?" she asked.

"Do you?" Harry immediately responded.

_Thump…thump…_Harry's heart went. He could feel her head shake slightly with each beat as his hands continued their trek through her hair.

"Yes…I don't know." He pulled her tighter against him. "Like I said, Christmas is supposed to be a happy time. If they came…it might make things awkward." She was playing with the hem Harry's shirt. "Maybe the day after Christmas would be a good time for both of us to go over to the Burrow."

Harry knew he would have to face them sooner or later, even though he dreaded it. "Yeah, you're probably right," he said.

Another easy silence descended, and Harry had to catch himself from dozing off once. His fingers were still entwined in her silky locks. There was something else he needed to bring up.

"Albus and I talked about something else, too…" he trailed off, unsure how to broach the subject.

"Oh?"

"Helen, uh, made some connections between things that have happened and your…condition." She tensed for a moment, and then sat up. Her cheeks were a touch red and she seemed to be sweating a tiny bit. She locked eyes with him.

"What?"

"Draco's heart…your condition…what I did to the Death Eaters…she saw some interesting parallels." He paused, absently noting her chest appeared to be heaving. "Draco experienced the same thing as you, but his malady was magical. I…well, I destroyed thirty hearts."

Ginny shrugged slightly, as if to say she didn't know where he was going with all of this. Harry sighed. "Look, it stands to reason that if I could do that, then why couldn't I fix your heart?" Her eyes widened a little. "Even though your condition is natural, and Draco's wasn't, why couldn't a counter-curse work to the same effect?"

"I don't know…" she said.

"Those are the observations that Helen made—where is Helen, by the way?" The random switch seemed to confuse Ginny for a second.

"Umm…I think she said she was going to the library."

"Oh…alright, anyways, that's what she asked me about. That was," Harry paused as he thought about it, "at the end of July. I went to Albus with what she said, and he said he'd think about it."

"And that's what you talked about with him today?" Harry nodded. "Well, what did he say?"

"He said he'd realized it would ultimately be our choice, but the only thing he could see working would be me trying to fix it."

Ginny's lower lip trembled, and she bit it. "And…and you think you could do it?"

Harry's heart almost broke in two at the quavering hope in her voice. It was the exact same emotion he was feeling.

"I'm not sure," he said slowly. "It's possible, but I wouldn't really know what I was doing. I could hurt you more."

She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Did you know what you were doing that night when the Death Eaters came?" Harry shook his head.

"But it happened anyway?" He nodded. "So…it's something that you can just do, if the right emotion is present…?"

"I suppose…but how would we know what that is?"

"That might just happen without you trying, like it did before." She put her head back onto his chest. Harry was starting to understand what Albus had meant about accepting things.

"Ginny, babe…what if it doesn't work?" He heard a sniff and she shuddered against him. _Damn it_, he thought. He hadn't wanted to get her crying. "Or," he started, wishing he could avoid saying it. "What if I made it worse?"

Her voice was muffled somewhat when she spoke. "We'll have to worry about that when we come to it."

"So you want to try this?"

She nodded slightly against him. "Yes, but…not until after Christmas sometime. We don't need the stress right now. Let's just enjoy our holiday."

Harry hugged her even tighter against him. "I love you," he whispered into her hair. The scent of her perfume, or shampoo maybe, was intoxicating.

"I love you, too," she whispered back. They stayed like that, holding each other, for a long time after.

----------

The next week passed uneventfully. Harry, Ginny, and Helen relaxed, just enjoying their free time and each other's company. Ginny and Helen noticed a subtle change in Harry's attitude, but it wasn't much. He seemed to be a little less resigned, but there was still some kind of damper on his spirits. Ginny knew what it was, but they did not broach the subject of where they would be visiting the day after Christmas again.

Christmas Eve arrived cold and clear, and Harry, Ginny, and Helen went into Diagon Alley to pick out something to wear to the party. After enjoying a quiet lunch in the Leaky Cauldron, they went to Madam Malkin's. Ginny ended up with a strapless, auburn gown; Helen chose a matching burnished bronze one. Harry liked the dark gold dress robes Ginny had pointed out, and decided that he would get them. He had Madam Malkin put the Gryffindor and Potter crests on all three of their outfits.

They arrived back at the castle with just enough time to shower and change before the party. At seven in the evening, precisely, the three of them stepped through the doors of the Great Hall.

All of the Professors were there, as well as some of their families. There were small, circular tables set up around the Hall, which could hold about eight to ten people each. There was a drink bar along the right wall, and food buffet along the left. Toward the front of the Hall, where the Head table usually was, there was a dance floor set up. Flitwick had decorated the Hall, as he usually did, but it was a little less overwhelming this year. It was subtler—Harry looked around at it and felt his spirits lift slightly. It wasn't tacky or overbearing. He'd have to mention it to Flitwick at some point.

Harry saw Dumbledore waving the three of them over to his table, and they headed in that direction. He saw that besides the Headmaster, there were four others at the table. One of them was McGonagall, another was Flitwick, and the two others were teenage girls.

"Welcome Harry, Ginny, Helen. You all look marvelous tonight," he said as he eyed the crests on their clothing.

"Thank you, sir," Helen said, as she sat down. She had put her straight, brown hair up in a bun, put some glitter in it, and curled the ends. She looked like a little princess, in Harry's opinion. Ginny sat down next her, and Harry sat on her other side. He looked questioningly at Dumbledore.

"Ah, yes, my apologies. This," he said, inclining his head toward the girl on McGonagall's left, "is Francine Lankwell. She's Minerva's sister's granddaughter."

Francine, who had long, black hair, smiled at the three of them. "It's very nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Potter, Miss Potter," she said, nodding to each.

"And this," Dumbledore continued, motioning to the girl on Flitwick's right, "is Julie Flitwick, his granddaughter."

"Honor to meet you, all three of you," she said.

"Likewise," Harry said, as Ginny and Helen nodded. The eight of them passed small talk for a little while, and during that time, two others came to sit. An older lady, diminutive like Flitwick, sat down on the Charms professor's left, and another older lady, who looked very similar to McGonagall, sat down between her and Dumbledore.

"This is Minerva's sister, Kathryn Lankwell, and the charming young lady next to Filius is his wife, Dahlia," Dumbledore imparted.

The group passed pleasantries once again, and it was soon announced that people could start getting themselves dinner. They all went to the buffet and filled their plates with all types of food—it was a magnificent spread, one that Harry was sure he'd remember for ages.

Harry and Ginny had a few glasses of century-old wine, which they enjoyed greatly. Harry gave Helen a taste, but she wrinkled her nose and sputtered. She didn't like the taste at all.

It was a pleasant evening, and it passed quickly. Following dinner, a small desert was served; Harry loved the chocolate fudge, Ginny had two helpings of the caramel coffee cake, and Helen had a chocolate milkshake. There seemed to more Muggle foods present than Harry remembered, but he didn't complain. The House Elves seemed to be serving the best of both worlds.

After everyone had eaten what they wanted, the dance floor was opened, and couples slowly wandered out there.

"May I have this dance?" Harry asked Ginny as a slow song came on.

She grinned and nodded, and he led her by the hand out onto the floor. They swayed in time with the music, enjoying the closeness and the peace the evening seemed to bring. Harry hadn't felt this serene in a long time. As the song wound down, Harry looked around and saw that Dumbledore was dancing with a laughing Helen. He smiled to Ginny and pointed it out, and she laughed.

"I think I'm going to cut in," he whispered to her, and she nodded, and went to return to her seat.

Harry made his way over to the two, catching Dumbledore's eye. The old man smiled. Harry cleared his throat when he reached them. "Excuse me, Miss Potter, but would you do me the honor of dancing with me?"

She looked over her shoulder at him, and just then Dumbledore twirled her. She let out a noise between a laugh and a shriek, and glared at him half-heartedly. She nodded to Harry. She wasn't very tall, but he could manage, and they danced for several songs in a row after that. He hadn't seen her smile so much in a long time, and he felt slightly guilty about it. He seemed to have been neglecting a lot of things recently, and he would make sure to begin rectifying that as soon as Christmas was over.

Their last dance was a slow dance, and Harry gently twirled her as the song finished. He watched as the small curls at the ends of her hair flew outward with the action, and with a heartrending pang, he knew that Helen was one of the people that had kept him sane. Through her quiet innocence, but sometimes profound wisdom, she had knocked Harry down a few times, and had kept him grounded. She might have been only seven, but to Harry, the age didn't matter. She was just as wise and important to him as Dumbledore was.

They walked slowly back to their table, laughing and talking about how Flitwick's wife had tried to dance with Hagrid. She had almost been squashed, and had given it up as a bad job. Ginny was idly twirling her wine glass as they sat down.

Harry sat down between them, and put an arm around each of their shoulders. He kissed Ginny's forehead, and then repeated the action on Helen's.

Ginny cocked her head at him with a questioning smile on her face. "What was that for, Harry?"

"I don't think I've done that enough in the past few months." He sighed; the bare shoulders of his two favorite girls felt cool to the touch. "You both know how much I care for you, right?"

"Of course, Daddy," Helen said, although there was a heavy tone to her voice. He didn't think he'd ever heard it. He looked at her with a crease in his forehead, but she was staring at the table.

Ginny nudged Harry slightly, and he looked at her. "Yes Harry, we know it. And you know how much we both care for you."

Harry nodded, and bit his lip as, without warning, tears welled up in his eyes. "I'm just…I'm sorry, you two." One leaked down his cheek, and Helen noticed it as it splashed on the table. She looked up in surprise; her father didn't cry very often.

"What are you sorry for?" Ginny asked.

"Everything…just, how I've been. I've been so selfish. You two mean so much to me, and have helped me so much. I don't know what I would have down without both of you."

Helen reached up and carefully wiped away a tear that was sliding down his cheek. He didn't move as her small finger slid across his skin. "I don't know what would have happened without _you_, Daddy. You saved me…helped me…brought me here, to live with you and Mum…" she faded away.

Ginny was nodding along with her words, and leaned into Harry, slipping her arms around waist. "She's right, you know. And for me, too. You helped me get past the depression I was going into."

Harry wiped at his face with the sleeve of his robe, and then replaced the arm around Ginny's shoulders. "So," he said with a watery smile, "I guess we all helped each other." Ginny and Helen nodded. Harry let out a short laugh. "I'm becoming so weepy," he said.

Ginny kissed his cheek. "Mmm…that's alright. Emotional men turn me on." Harry had been trying to swallow, but choked as her words penetrated his brain. Helen gave them both an odd look, and shook her head. She reached for a piece of fudge. Harry felt the fire burning in his face, because she had said that in front of Helen, but Ginny obviously didn't care. She was bemusedly watching as the cherry color in his cheeks faded.

"All right, there?" she asked. He comically loosened his collar, glaring at her.

"Yes, of course, why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh, I dunno…" she said, pinching his thigh. He brushed her hand away and captured it in his own.

He growled at her. "You better watch it, young lady."

Helen interrupted them. "What are you two _doing_?" She was looking at them unblinkingly, half-eaten fudge midway to her mouth.

"You guys are so weird," she said after a moment, and popped the rest of the fudge into her mouth. Ginny and Harry just laughed and shook their heads. Harry led Ginny onto the dance floor once again, and they moved to the beat of several faster songs. Harry was enjoying himself, and he could see that Ginny was too. She was smiling and keeping up with the beat with Harry. After a few songs they returned to the table.

Harry looked around. The party was slowly dying out, and people were starting to leave. There seemed to be about half as many as there was when they'd first arrived. He looked down just in time to catch the tail end of a yawn from Helen. Ginny must have seen it, too, because she spoke up.

"Harry, it looks like someone is ready for bed." She looked at her watch. The face read 11:30. "It _is_ pretty late, and I'm pretty tired myself." She looked at Helen. "You ready for bed, too?"

Helen nodded. It had been a fun night, but she was knackered. "Alright then, I'll take you up to bed and probably turn in myself." Her eyes slid to Harry.

"I think I'm going to stay down here for a little while longer," he said. He wasn't really too tired yet.

"Ok, that's fine," Ginny said, as she stood. She gripped the back of the chair tightly as she got to her feet. "Ready, Helen?" Helen stood as well. Harry hugged her and kissed the top of her head. She smiled up at him.

Harry turned to Ginny and hugged her, too. He pecked her on the lips. "I love you, babe."

She smiled. "I love you, too. I'll probably be asleep when you come in, so I'll see you in the morning." She grabbed Helen's hand and they started for the exit. Harry watched them go, a warm feeling spreading through his chest. He loved them so much.

Harry stayed at the party until almost one, when Dumbledore and him were the last ones there. They cleaned up, sampling bits of leftover dessert here and there.

"So, how was tonight?" the Headmaster asked as they stood by the exit of the Hall. It was dimly lit, and was looking like it normally did. All traces of the party were gone.

"It was fine; it was what we needed, I think." Harry knew that the words were the truth, because he felt better at that moment than he had in a long time. The next day was Christmas, which he would spend with Ginny and Helen, and then the following day he would begin to repair his life.

"I'm glad that you enjoyed, yourself." Dumbledore was still staring into the cavernous Hall. "I was slightly disappointed, though…"

"Albus," Harry said, taking his pause as a chance to get a word in. "I know what you're going to say, but you don't need to. Believe it or not, I _am_ capable of fixing certain things myself."

"I am aware of that, Harry, but sometimes you don't have the luxury of waiting forever."

"What are you implying?" Harry had a hard edge in his voice.

Dumbledore turned to him with a smile on his face. "Merely that sooner is better than later." He glanced at his watch, and then raised his eyebrows. "I must be off to bed. Enjoy your Christmas."

He turned and left. "You too, Albus," Harry called to his back.

When Harry arrived to his room, he was definitely feeling groggy. As he shrugged his robes off, he saw that Ginny was indeed asleep already. The only movement coming from her was the slight, almost nonexistent rise and fall of her chest. Harry slid under the sheets, and with a wave of his hand, the single burning candle puffed out.

----------

_I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know…_

Harry started awake, unsure at first what had woken him. A second of listening told him that the alarm Ginny had bought in Diagon Alley was going off, and that it was now Christmas morning.

Movement caught his eye, and he looked over to his left. Ginny was on her side, facing away from him, but that wasn't what caught his eye. Through the window, he could see snow falling.

_Where the treetops glisten, and children listen to hear sleigh bells in the snow…_

"Happy Christmas, Ginny," he said, and sat up. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and rested his elbows on them. He put his face in his hands for a moment, rubbing the sleep from it. It must have been pretty early still, because he felt awfully tired.

He cocked his head to the side; Ginny hadn't responded. "Ginny? Time to wake up. It's Christmas."

_I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, with every Christmas card I write…_

When she still hadn't responded, he lifted his head completely from his hands and turned around. The falling snow caught his eyes again for a moment, but then they snapped to Ginny when he realized she hadn't even moved. He crawled over to her and shook her shoulder gently.

"Gin—" but he cut his own voice off. She felt cold and clammy, and her head lolled over toward him. Her skin was pale, and the freckles stood out in stark contrast to the whiteness.

_May your days be merry and bright, and may all your Christmases be white…_

Harry's brain went in four different directions at once: shock, panic, horror, and denial. He shook her shoulder again, but the only thing it did was to move her head in a sickly way.

"Ginny?" he asked again, very quietly. His lip trembled, and his face scrunched up as a searing, overwhelming pain shot through him. This couldn't be happening…couldn't _have_ happened…not on this day…not like this…

_I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, with every Christmas card I write…_

A sob escaped him, and he buried his head into the soft folds of her nightgown. He noticed, absently, that her breasts weren't moving. She wasn't breathing.

"Ginny, come on…" he cried. "Wake up," he pleaded. His tears were leaving the fabric wet, and it stuck to her skin. He looked up at her face—it was relaxed, almost peaceful, except it had no color.

_May your days be merry and bright, and may all your Christmases be white…_

His fists clenched on either side of her, and he straddled her, tilting her head back. He pressed his hands together and placed them over where her heart was. He pressed once, twice, and a third time; he leaned down and breathed into her mouth. It had no effect. Harry continued to do this, blinded by his hot tears, for several minutes.

Finally, exhausted, he collapsed by her side. "Ginny!" he shouted. He kept shaking her shoulder, hoping that maybe she would wake up, that maybe she would tell him it was ok, that it was all a dream, and that they had another century to live happily ever after. He kept hoping, but it didn't happen. Life wasn't the fairy tale he wanted it to be. The tears that were now pouring down his face felt like hot coals, like the ones that were burning in his chest, and he pressed his face to her neck, weeping against her cold flesh.

_May your days be merry and bright, and may all your Christmases be white…_

----------

The ice beat against Harry's clothes and face, but he didn't care. He was too numb to feel it. It was a dreary afternoon, and the weather cast a further pall over the already mournful proceedings. It was four days after Christmas, and it was Ginny's funeral.

Harry sat toward the front of the crowd, slouched in his chair. The past four days had been a whirlwind, one that had seemed to pass right over him. He watched all of it happening, but he felt detached. Things just weren't supposed to be like this—this quickly or this suddenly.

He felt deadened inside. All sensations were underwhelming or just completely absent, but he didn't care. He didn't even care that he didn't care. He just wanted to curl up into a ball and weep. Actually, he'd done that a few times over the past couple of days. He knew in the back of his mind that he should have offered more support to Helen, but in a resigned sense, it just didn't matter to him anymore.

Ginny…his Ginny…had died. She had _died_. It was an alien term to him, even though he'd been around death, because it had never touched him so personally. His parents—well, he hadn't really known them. Sirius had been great, but he was never very close to his Godfather. Dumbledore's 'death' had probably affected him the most, but the old man was still only his mentor.

Ginny was his _wife_. He had shared thoughts and experiences with her that no one else, not even Ron or Hermione, came close to. When he'd last seen her at the party, she was smiling and leading Helen away. He couldn't remember exactly what she'd last said to him, but he thought it was something about seeing him in the morning.

If only he had gone with her…his jaw clenched and his fists tightened around the edges of the chair he was sitting in. The freezing rain beat off his knuckles, but he didn't notice. He was one of the few people that hadn't cast an Impervious charm over themselves, and he had gotten some funny looks, but his impassive face had silenced whatever they were thinking.

Helen was sitting next to him, dressed in black slacks and a black blouse, and she looked about as cheerful as Harry felt. There were dark circles under her eyes, which were puffy; she had been crying a lot lately and had gotten very little sleep. While Harry had known death and had experienced it, she hadn't really been exposed to it up close and personal yet. She had seen Harry kill people, but that wasn't the same as losing her psuedo-Mum.

In a way, they were both just as overwhelmed. Harry was deeply in denial, and Helen just couldn't comprehend what had happened. She had never seen Harry like he'd been during the past few days, or the Headmaster for that matter, and she was worried about what it would do to her relationship with her father.

Harry's thoughts were along a similar track; he was trying to figure out what he could do about Helen. He couldn't help her if he couldn't help himself, but he didn't want to help himself. He wanted to wallow in the self-pity and the misery, because it took away the guilt, and he wanted to do that for a long time.

He knew that Ron and Hermione were somewhere toward the back of the crowd, but he hadn't spoken to them or really even looked at them since they'd arrived. Harry had gone to the Headmaster's office in a bawling panic early Christmas morning, and Dumbledore had been the one to tell the Weasleys. Harry had no idea how that had gone; he had been avoiding Ron's brothers as well.

In fact, he'd barely spoken at all since he told Dumbledore what had happened. He was lethargic and his brain felt like it was wading through murky waters whenever he tried to think. He was surprised that he'd even had the initiative to drag himself from his room to attend this funeral, which was taking place in the Hogwarts courtyard.

He wasn't listening to the proceedings. The only thing that reached his ears was the drum of the ice on the ground. He looked at the area in front of him with disinterest, watching how the small pellets hit the ground and bounced back up, before falling again. With a twisted sense of irony, he realized it was the perfect metaphor for his life. Each time he fell, he would bounce back up, only to fall again. It was a never-ending cycle with him, and he wished that he would either melt and stop or bounce back up so high that he couldn't possibly fall back down.

He shifted slightly in his chair, and raised his eyes to the front. Dumbledore was addressing them all, but the words didn't reach Harry. Well, they did…but he didn't bother comprehending them. What could the old man say that would possibly make him feel any better? What would make the bitterness—the guilt—and the dull throbbing ache go away? Nothing, that's what. Nothing would, and he didn't know if anything ever could.

The waving of Dumbledore's arms caught Harry's eyes from where they had settled on the coffin, and he raised his head to look. Dumbledore was looking at him. "Harry, would you like to give a eulogy?"

Harry almost said no. It was on the tip of his tongue, and he didn't care what people would have thought, but something stopped him. As much as he despised talking in front of people, as much as he wanted to just go back to his room and crawl into bed, he realized that he had to do this. There were still some things he needed to say Ginny, and if he didn't do it now, it would hang over him for the rest of his life.

He nodded slightly and stood; ice fell off of him to the ground. There was a _crunch... crunch... crunch…_ as he made his way to the podium, but his mind was singularly focused on the coffin. That was all he saw—all he knew. He turned to face the crowd, but he didn't see any of them. Unbidden, an image of Ginny sitting in the chair by the fire, holding Helen in her arms, came to his mind's eyes. He was so drained of emotion that it didn't even occur to him to be sad over it.

He turned slightly, the coffin entering his peripheral vision. Whatever he had to say, it wasn't to anyone else but who lay there.

"Somehow…somehow I think I've disappointed you. No…I know I have. I know I've let you down. But, I don't know…should I feel guilty about it? Should I feel guilty about letting you down, Ginny? Is it my fault? Is it both of ours? Or is it no one's?

"I'm not sure, I don't have the answers, but I think we let each other down. That's what I think happened. We both saw the end before we began, but we chose to ignore it. We chose to acknowledge it at first, but then we let it go. We didn't talk about it, we avoided it, and now it's too late."

Harry took a deep breath, and turned toward the coffin a little more. "I was being selfish, Ginny. That's what it was. I had a choice to make, and I made the wrong one. And then, when I realized it, I think your soul had already gone into the night. There are some things that can't be undone, and I know that what I did was one of them. I wasn't there for you when you needed me most, and I lost you long before Christmas because of it.

"I think it was because I was blinded by you, Ginny. I saw what we could have had, and what I know I wanted, and took it. I've kissed your lips…I've held your head…I've shared your bed." Harry's voice broke for a second, and the first tear fell down his face, lost among the melting ice.

"I knew you so well, Ginny, I even knew how you smelled—Merlin, I can smell it even now—you were perfect. What now, though? You've moved on, to your next great adventure, and I'm here, wondering when I'll get a chance to see you again. Remember us, Ginny, wherever you are, remember me, remember all that we had.

"Remember when we cried, when we smiled…I remember watching you sleep, seeing a smile grace your features every now and then." Harry smiled to himself through his tears, but it didn't last. His face contorted for a moment, and he had to contain a sob. "I would have been the father of your child, I know it, and we would have been a great family. I would have spent my entire life with you, and loved every minute of it."

Harry wiped at the tears and ice on his face. It was getting hard to see. "You knew my fears, Ginny, all of them, and you were the only that could talk to me about them. I knew yours, too, and I think I understood them the best. We had our rough spots, our doubts, but I know I loved you, with all my heart, I know it.

"I don't think I can live without you. There's just this hollowness…it's so big and empty and cold…I can still feel you next to me when I'm sleeping; is that bad? Ginny, I love you so much—you were the one, and I think you always were. Goodbye, Ginny… goodbye my love."

Only the soft patter of ice on the coffin could be heard in the ensuing quiet.


	16. Riders on the Storm

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: _'And like withered leaves on a gust of wind, we scattered like riders on the storm.'_**

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Chapter 16: Riders on the Storm

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sighed and leaned back in his chair. He could feel the tired strain his ancient age put on his bones, but it didn't concern him at the moment. He took his glasses off and placed them on his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had a mild headache, but the action was more from the heavy feeling he'd had for some time now.

The Wizarding World, most of it, at least, was in good shape. The fear that had spread like wildfire after Voldemort had returned was slowly receding, and becoming, just like Voldemort, a distant memory. And, as the fear went away, things became more and more relaxed, and people were starting to live their lives like they should.

The prejudices and bigotry that Tom had fed off of were also slowly disappearing, because most of the people that harbored them were either dead or in prison. The peace was a welcome change, especially because there hadn't been true peace in a very long time. The economy was flourishing, relations between magical species were growing, and the Ministry was no longer the seed for corruption.

As Dumbledore considered things, he could definitely see that things were indeed looking up. His world—the world that he'd been protecting and looking after for so long now—was almost to the point where it would not need him anymore. He'd been quietly guiding things as best he could for a very long time, and he was happy to see that the necessity for that was fading.

Except…in one area. He tilted the chair back even more as his thoughts went to his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, one Harry James Potter. If the Wizarding World was in good condition, its hero certainly _was not_. Dumbledore grimaced as he replayed what he had just thought: the world's _hero_.

That's what struck him. That's what bothered him the most. Since Harry had been one—since that fateful Halloween night—he had been, more or less, the hero of the Wizarding World. Through thick and thin, he had been the beacon of hope for so many people. It was all with good reason, as there _was_ a prophecy that said it was Harry who had to kill Tom, but it had thrown a cloud over Harry's life from the start.

Dumbledore had noticed it the first day Harry had been in Hogwarts, when he had entered the Great Hall, and everyone was gawking at him. He had looked distinctly uncomfortable, and that had, for the most part, followed Harry through his entire time at Hogwarts. As time passed, though, he seemed to handle it better, and at some point, it had become a non-issue. He had simply accepted the fact that there was nothing he could do about it.

Dumbledore didn't mind his own fame, but he knew what it could do. He knew how fickle the masses were, and how quickly fame could become infamy. Thankfully, Harry had avoided that little problem, but that wasn't what was really bothering the Headmaster. He began to rub his eyes, trying to get the stupor out from his overworked brain.

No, what was really bothering him was that the Wizarding World was good. He loved that it was good—that had always been his goal—but it was _how it became good_ that was giving him issues. Of course, it had been Harry and his friends, but mostly Harry, who had created this peace, and _that_ was why he felt so old and tired. As he'd told Harry before Christmas, he felt like he'd failed Harry. It wasn't something he'd ever wanted to do again, to fail, but it was there.

He'd failed him because he hadn't foreseen what was coming. Harry had sacrificed so much, had _given up_ so much for people he would never meet. Tom was a huge, giant specter over things for so long, and then Harry had come in and ended that. It had been appreciated, for a little while, but then things had changed.

People had seemed to stop caring. Now that their world was safe…and free…they returned to their lives and forgot about _how_ things had become like that. They forgot about who had finished it, about who had been the one to end it all, and about who had restored peace. The Wizarding World was good, yes, but they had forgotten about their hero.

There was no doubt that Harry loved the quiet life, away from all the sights and sounds of fame, but Dumbledore took it as an insult to himself that the world could have such long-term memory issues. Harry was a like a grandson to him, and when Harry was hurting, he got upset. He got upset at everything that hurt Harry, which, in this case, was the world. They were all so wrapped up in their own lives—it had happened so fast after word of the Tom's end had come—that they'd left their savior in a heartbeat.

And where was Harry for all of this? Harry was…Harry was a broken man, that's where he was. He'd lost his parents…actually, he'd never really known his parents. He'd grown up unloved and uncared for, which was partially Dumbledore's fault, but at least he'd been protected. Dumbledore shook his head. He was past trying to justify his actions, because he could now see just how horribly wrong he'd been. Harry was…Harry _would have been_ just as selfless and humble if he'd grown up exposed to his fame, but Dumbledore didn't have enough faith. He'd doomed Harry to eleven years of hell.

Then, every year that Harry had been at Hogwarts, he'd been through some trial or another, most of which Dumbledore either could have prevented or had caused. Quirrell…well, Dumbledore knew there was something odd about the man. If only he'd checked into his suspicions. As for the Basilisk, Dumbledore knew that the Chamber did actually exist, but he'd never really had the motivation to find it and stop whatever was inside it. That entire ordeal could have been avoided altogether.

He'd always had his suspicions about who the real secret keeper was, and if he'd pressed harder to get Sirius a real trial all those years back, most of what had occurred during Harry's third year would have been different. And the TriWizard Tournament…he didn't even want to think about that fiasco. There could have been so many things that would have invalidated Harry, or the Tournament altogether, but they'd all blindly pressed on.

He admitted to himself that Snape probably wasn't the best to teach Harry Occlumency, because of the pretenses the man had had to keep for his role as a spy, but that, like everything else, was water under the bridge. At least Harry, and his five accomplices, had escaped the Ministry that night with their lives.

And then there was Harry's sixth year. Dumbledore had so blindly followed his will not to reveal his true power, that he'd faked his own death, _in front of Harry_. Apparently, as Dumbledore now saw it, he hadn't learned from any of his past mistakes. He'd forced the boy into another cruel situation, and then had confronted him with _that_. He was ashamed of it, more than he would admit to anybody, and if he could take anything back, in his entire life, that would be it.

It had caused Harry to become bitter and hard, and had led him down roads that had shocked Dumbledore at first. The more he thought about it, though, the less surprised he was. Harry was a survivor, as well as a protector. He'd do anything to keep his own life; however, the only thing he valued above that, were the lives of those close to him. The darkness Harry had shown wasn't really darkness…it was more an extreme reaction to the danger his loved ones were put in.

Everything, though, all of it, had led to what had happened. Harry and his closest friends drifted apart, and Dumbledore couldn't help but think he'd had a hand in that too. The Headmaster had caused most of the traumas in Harry's life, either directly or indirectly. They had slowly eroded away at Harry; they had slowly made it harder and harder for Harry to relate to his fellow human being, in the most fundamental of ways, and that had started the entire downhill slide.

What was worse, and why Dumbledore was so…frustrated…was that he had been forgotten. The broken man he'd become—even though at times he didn't appear to be one—had been forgotten. Harry'd had only Ginny, himself, and, to an extent, Helen to turn to, but now…now it was different. Ginny was gone, which Dumbledore had known was going to happen, but not as quickly; Helen and Harry seemed to be drifting apart, which was a shame, because they had helped each other so much; finally, Harry hadn't had a meaningful conversation with Dumbledore since that week before Christmas.

That left him to himself, which Dumbledore knew was a dangerous situation. Harry wasn't normally self-destructive, but he did have very little regard for his own well being at times. As Dumbledore watched him close himself off, as he faded from the public eye, he'd become very reticent. The withdrawal of Ron and Hermione hadn't helped things, and Dumbledore didn't think he'd spoken to them since…well, the wedding.

Dumbledore glanced at the magical calendar on the wall. The wedding had been almost nine months before, as it was now the end of April, 1999. He hadn't spoken to his two best friends in _nine months_. He'd had the feeling that Harry was going to seriously try and fix things, but then Christmas had happened. He sighed yet again, sinking lower into his chair. Christmas had been a…disaster.

Dumbledore didn't know how much longer this could go on, or how many more traumas Harry could take, before he did something rash. Since Christmas, Harry had withdrawn from everyone so completely that it was hard to tell what he was really thinking. Even his teaching, which he'd been able to separate from his depression before, was suffering from his impassive and apathetic attitude.

There was no blame to place, though; at least, not on Harry. Harry had done so much for everyone and had done it all so selflessly, that no one could possibly blame him. And that was the problem—they weren't blaming him; no, they were forgetting him. And as Harry slipped further and further away from everyone, Dumbledore was afraid that Harry would forget himself.

He sat up, placing his glasses back on the end of his nose. There were things he needed to get done, so he couldn't continue to dishearten himself for the entire day. He would observe Harry carefully for a while, and see if he could help here and there. It was the least he could do for the savior of the Wizarding World, his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and the lost and broken young man that was Harry Potter.

----------

Things had been going so well, and now it seemed like all that had been lost. Helen Potter stood in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch early one late-May morning; _Fervens_ rested idly against the ground. The light wind tousled her hair, but she wasn't aware of it. Her thoughts were a thousand miles away.

Her relationship with Harry—her father—had started out on the worst of terms, and she still shuddered to think about the night she had been woken from a sound sleep by those rough hands, but it had been almost completely positive after that. He had promised to continue to help her, and he had done just that.

His visits to the Pediatrics Ward were something she genuinely looked forward to, and over time, became to depend on. He got her through the roughest times, when all that she had to fall back on was that horrible night. He would remind her of how well it had ended, though. Someone she had only read about, and had already put on a pedestal in her young mind, had come in and saved her. He had held her and he had wept with her. Her image of Harry Potter had been shattered in that moment, to be replaced by something that few people saw.

Harry was gentle, caring, the complete friend, and, above all else, he was not arrogant or boastful. He accepted his fame and his abilities without too much question, and he did not dwell on them. He did not shove them in anyone's face and demand special treatment; on the contrary, he tended to play them down and place other people, whom he thought deserved it more, in the spotlight for things he mostly was responsible for. Helen had heard the full story of Voldemort's fall—Harry liked to say his friends helped, but it really was _him_ who had finally ended it. Harry had the power, and had used it.

And then, for a few horrible moments, she had thought she was being sent back to the Orphanage. The nurse hadn't told her where she was going…just that she had to pack her stuff because she would be leaving later that day. She had assumed the worst, and had been absolutely hysterical. She hadn't even heard Harry come in.

When she did, though, she'd flung herself at him and he did what he always did—comforted her and made her feel better. She'd found out she was going to Hogwarts…to live with him. That weekend had been incredible, and it had ended with her officially becoming part of his family.

She couldn't remember a better time in her life. Those few months, they had been so amazing. She felt so loved and accepted…not like at the Orphanage. She wasn't suffering from boredom, either, which plagued her at the Ward. She was content. She was happy. _She was part of a family_.

The icing on the cake was that she had gotten to do magic. Magic had always fascinated her, and she'd had some strange drive to figure out as much about it as she could. That's why she read so much—she had to be acquainted with as much as she could. When she first cast that Patronus in Harry's Defense Against the Dark Arts class…she had almost burst from joy and pride.

Of course, it hadn't lasted, however. Even she, as young as she was, knew that her life couldn't stay so wonderful. Things had gotten so bad so…quickly, though, that she had been totally unprepared. Her mind had been so overwhelmed that she was still trying to absorb everything that had happened.

First, her Mum had been diagnosed with some sort of sickness that would lead to her death. Her heart was failing her. Then…there had been a weird tension building between Harry and his two friends, and it had seemed to snap on his wedding day. She knew that people were supposed to be happy when they got married, and at first Harry was, but, by the end of the reception, he had seemed like a different person. Helen didn't know enough about the situation to place the blame on anyone, but she couldn't condone the redhead hitting her father, for any reason.

Things were different after that—her family was falling apart. That feeling of belonging, that she had come to accept and rely on, was fading. It hurt in ways she couldn't articulate, but Harry was pulling away from her. Dumbledore had known it, from the little chat she'd had with him, but both were unable to stop it. All throughout the fall, Helen had watched, helplessly, as Harry has distanced himself a little more every day.

She watched as he trained harder and harder, absorbing himself in it more and more, until that's all she would really interact with him. She was becoming quite powerful and athletic, but that didn't matter to her if Harry wasn't there to support her and share it with her. Ginny, her Mum, was great, but Harry held a much more special place in her heart. She loved both, but Harry was who really mattered.

At the Christmas Eve party, Harry had seemed to undergo a bit of change. He seemed to come out of his shell a bit. He was a little more loving towards both her and her Mum, and he seemed genuinely happy for the first time in a while. She had left the table with her Mum that night with a warm feeling spreading through her chest; it was that feeling of belonging returning.

Then, it all went wrong. Everything had just…exploded. Her Mum had died, which she still had a hard time grasping completely. There was no doubt in her mind that she had loved Ginny, but what hurt her the most was the effect her passing had had on her father. She had never seen Harry so strained…so fragile. To her, it had appeared that he had just given up. The four days between Ginny's death and the funeral were rough for her, because Harry had closed himself off in his room. He had offered no words of support…he didn't hold her at all. He had just disappeared into his room and stayed there.

And that's how it had been, for almost five months now. Winter had given way to spring, which was now on the cusp of giving way to summer, and nothing had changed. Harry was still as cold and distant as he'd been those four days, and Helen didn't know what to do anymore. She trained with Dumbledore almost every day, working herself to the limit her seven-year-old body would carry her, but that wasn't enough. Her mind kept returning the huge, vacant spot that was Harry.

She had come to depend on him. That was the simple truth. She had come to depend on him, and she knew that he depended on her in some ways. Now, though, he wasn't depending on her, or anyone, really. That hurt her in ways she couldn't express—it seemed to suggest to her that maybe their bond wasn't as strong as she'd thought it was, that if he could so easily forget about her then maybe he wasn't as loving and caring as she'd thought.

She started into a dance of death with her scimitar, twirling and flashing around the half-lit pitch. Her breath puffed in vapory clouds—it was a bit chilly this morning—as she leapt and plunged. Her face set in hard line, harder than ever before. There was a burning feeling of longing and loss that was fueling her motions now, of betrayal and denial that was causing her to move faster and faster.

Her sword was moving almost quicker than the naked eye could observe, and the air started to shimmer around her as if it was heating up. All that she knew was the movements of the blade…and the emotions that were raging against the dam inside of her; with each stroke of the metal, the waves crashed harder and harder against the wall, until finally, a crack appeared.

Helen stopped and fell to her knees, dropping the sword in the grass next to her, forgotten. It was just too much…all that had happened. The confusion, loss, sadness, and hurt tightened into one small, burning ember in the pit of her stomach, and her eyebrows came together as she fought to hold the tears and cry of anguish back. It wasn't enough, though, and the dam broke.

Chemicals poured through her body as the amount of emotion intensified, and her magic began to mix with it. There was a moment when she felt nothing—it was almost as if everything had melted away—and when she came back to herself she was on all fours on the ground. There was a weird orange haze in the air around her…

She stood up, looking around. For some reason, she felt a little better, but the emotion was still there—she could almost feel it coursing through her veins, pulsing with her magic…her hair was blowing in her face, and she distractedly pushed it out of the way. It wouldn't stay, though, and her eyes went to the nearby trees. The wind wasn't very strong, so her hair shouldn't be this stubborn…

And then she looked at herself. Her clothes whipped against her in an unseen gale, and the grass near her was bent sideways from the force of whatever wind it was. The orange haze caught her attention, and she looked more closely. It seemed to be coming from her…and her eyes widened in realization. She had done that thing…that power that her father and the Headmaster had shown her.

They had told her that she would someday be able to do it, most likely, but to not be disappointed if it didn't happen for many years. They had said that it was very hard to cause, that it required some profound emotion. There had to be a strong catalyst for it, to make it happen, even stronger than losing a loved one.

She had done it, though. She had 'ascended', as they had called it. It was almost bittersweet though, when she realized the emotions that had caused it; or rather, _who_ had caused it. Harry's attitude towards her was what caused it. That didn't make her feel very good—but, well, it kind of did. She was feeling an interesting paradox at the moment. It showed her that she cared enough about him for it to affect her so deeply, but it also showed her that Harry was so far from her at the moment.

She bent and picked up her wand, as it had reverted after she'd dropped it, and started back toward the castle. The orange aura was still roiling around her, but she didn't care. Maybe it would show people that things weren't good. Maybe it would show people that ignoring problems only made them worse.

----------

Dumbledore looked up curiously as he heard the Gargoyle move aside. Apparently, it was so bewildered by what it was seeing that it couldn't even report to him. Focusing intently, Dumbledore's eyebrows raised a little. Whatever, or whoever, it was, was very powerful. He could feel the magic pounding against the stones of the castle. It was…almost familiar…but there was something about it he couldn't quite place. He didn't feel threatened, but he didn't know what it was.

He stood, grasping his wand, and whispered the incantation for the change. _Omnipotens_ flashed into sight, and he moved to stand by the door to his office. He was probably overreacting, but in his old age, he'd found it wiser to err on the side of caution rather than be unprepared. The doorknob turned slowly, and he readied himself to spring. He would level the sword at whosever head it was.

The door pushed inward and he sprung, but the only thing he saw before he was knocked to the ground was a blur of orange. His sword had been parried and the person—quite small, in fact—had whirled and hit him with the flat of their blade, knocking him to his back. When his vision cleared, he saw that he was looking up into the horrified face of Helen Potter.

A smile spread across his lips and a laugh escaped, slowly at first, but building more and more as the hilarity of the situation presented itself. A seven-year-old had just soundly trounced him, and _he_ had been waiting, ready.

"Umm…Professor…" was all Helen could vocalize.

He shook his head mildly and pulled himself to his feet, still beaming at the small girl. It was then that he noticed it…and his eyes widened. She was surrounded by an orange aura. She had ascended.

"Well, well, well…" Dumbledore said. He noticed the slight fear with which Helen was looking at him. He put a hand to her back and guided her over to a plush armchair in front of his desk, and then moved to sit in his own chair.

She wouldn't meet his eyes and was picking at the collar of her shirt when he looked to her again. "Helen, you did nothing wrong."

She looked up. She was still ascended, so that might account for the emotions bubbling in her eyes, but there was something else in there that Dumbledore couldn't quite place.

"But…but I attacked you, sir." She looked down once again. Something glinted in the light, and the Headmaster's eyes were drawn to the tear as it flashed down from her face.

"Helen," he said softly, "look at me." She slowly looked up. "You did nothing wrong, my dear." He almost smiled at the familiar motion of her cocking her head in a silent question.

Dumbledore decided to approach this from a different direction. "What happened as you opened the door?"

"Well…I saw a flash of silver. I didn't even know it was a sword—yours, actually—so I guess I just reacted?" she finished, posing it slightly as a question.

Dumbledore inclined his head. "And react you did, that is for sure."

A small smile graced her young features. "About that…I'm sorry for knocking you down."

He waved his hand. "Not to worry…these old bones can still take it." He stared intently at her for a moment, and she grew uncomfortable under his gaze. Her eyes started roving about the room.

"Tell me," he said, suddenly, "how is it that you came to be like that?" He motioned to the orange haze around her.

She looked kind of confused as she spoke. "Um…I was kind of thinking about all that's been going on," she stated, and her face fell a tiny bit, "and I guess I just kind of lost it. I was practicing with my sword, and then the next thing I knew I was like this."

"Ah," Dumbledore intoned. She was remarkable, this girl. In terms of spells, she could probably give any fourth year a run for their money. In terms of power…let's just say that he wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of a simple stunner from her if he was caught unaware. And now…with this ascension…she was probably the third most powerful wizard or witch in the world, behind Harry and himself. On top of all of that, _she was seven_.

"Did you tell Harry about it yet?" he asked.

The brown in her eyes shifted, getting darker. The orange aura flared out slightly, and a ghostly breeze started flitting about the room. Dumbledore didn't know if Helen even realized the change, but he certainly did.

"No," she said. Her voice was slightly off.

Dumbledore considered her for a moment, unsure of what to say. He had an idea of what was causing the change, and, in turn, what had caused her ascension, but he didn't know if it was a good idea to be blunt about it, like he would have been with Harry.

He finally settled on, "May I ask why?"

Helen drooped in her chair a bit as another tear escaped, and slowly the orange aura and the wind died away. She had returned to her normal state. She looked heartbroken, and it hurt Dumbledore to see such a young, fiery girl be like that. Things had just gotten so out of hand.

Through a stifled sob, she said, "I don't know if he'd care."

"Of course he would," replied Dumbledore. He inwardly winced; his voice sounded a little too dry.

She looked up at him through red, puffy eyes, with tear-streaked cheeks. The agony in her gaze…it was all Dumbledore really needed to know. She was lost, maybe just as lost as Harry was, and the further they drifted from each other, the worse off they both were.

"Listen, Helen…" he started, but paused, as he was unsure of what he really wanted to say. "Things…things will get better." He could see the doubt on her face. "I know that right now it seems like they won't, that right now it doesn't seem like things could ever get better, but trust me when I say they always do." Some of the doubt faded, and Dumbledore would have felt glad, if only he had complete faith in his own words. He wasn't sure if things could ever completely return to the way they were.

"Time usually heals even the deepest of wounds," he concluded. There wasn't really much more he could say. She was sharp and would be able to see right through any kind of extended consolation.

She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled; he watched as her shoulders slowly settled. She dragged her forearm across her face, wiping, or in some places, smearing the wetness. She regarded the Headmaster for a moment.

"I'm sorry for knocking you over."

Dumbledore chuckled. "As I said before, don't worry too much about it. You impressed me, you know."

"I did?" she queried.

"In three ways, actually," he responded. She wiped the rest of the tears away and, when her arm came away, Dumbledore could see she was curious.

"The first," he went on, "was how aware of your surroundings you were. I thought I had hidden myself fairly well, but I guess I cannot fool you." There was slight red tinge to her cheeks. "Then, you reacted much faster than I could have in parrying my sword. I wasn't even sure of what had happened, you moved so fast." The color deepened. "And finally, in the heat of the moment, you still used non-lethal force. Rather than trying the blade on me, you simply struck with the flat of it." The color stayed, but Dumbledore could tell by the way her eyes scrunched up that a question was on her lips.

"But…the blades have dulling charms on them, right? Even if I wanted to use the sharp part, I wouldn't have been able to."

"Yes, you are right, of course, but would you have if they weren't dulled?" It was a good question, and Dumbledore was very interested in her answer. He watched as her eyes narrowed; he supposed that she was thinking about it, about what it might be like to actually do that to someone.

"I think," she said, slowly, "that I would avoid it if I could."

That was what Dumbledore was hoping he'd hear. "A very wise and merciful decision that would be."

"But," she forged on, "if I had to, I don't think I'd have a problem with it."

"And why is that?"

"I've seen what people like the Death Eaters can do…I've…been a victim…if I had to protect someone from something like that, I don't think I'd hesitate." Dumbledore watched her carefully as she spoke, but she didn't notice. She was staring at the paneled front of his desk, but her eyes were unfocused. She was speaking very slowly, as if thinking about it very hard. She certainly had some interesting observations for a seven-year-old.

"And I'm sure you'd make them regret it," Dumbledore said. He looked over his half-moon spectacles at her, until she looked up and met his gaze. "As for what you've accomplished today, I think we'll explore that further when we next meet for training. Alright?"

She nodded and slid off the chair. "I…thanks, sir," she said, and turned to leave. Dumbledore watched her go without saying another word. She was remarkable, that was for certain, but she was troubled. They all were.

----------

Harry placed the paper on the growing pile and reached for another one. It was June 24th, 1999, and the students had just left for their summer holiday. He was grading the final essay he'd assigned his seventh years, which was the last thing he had to do before he could close the books on this year. Since the Ministry graded all NEWTS and OWLS, he'd only had five years worth of finals to grade. They didn't take very long, as did most of the younger years' essays, but this last stack was killing him. He wished he hadn't made it so hard; he always tended to forget that everything he assigned he'd have to grade at some point, and he wasn't one to half-ass it and slap a grade on something.

He noted the name—Luna Lovegood—and set to reading. He was working very methodically, almost without pause, because if he didn't his thoughts would stray and he wouldn't be able to get anything done. That's how he lived now. He either kept himself busy or slid into a pit of self-pity and misery.

Luna's essay was very thorough and very well organized, which was no surprise, as she _was_ a Ravenclaw. He wrote 'A' on the top of the paper and entered the grade into his book; he moved to place it in the stack of already graded papers. However, the light coming from the windows was behind it as he did so, and he noticed that something appeared to be written on the back of it. Curious, he turned it over and read.

_Harry,_

_While it is true that we reap what we sow, do not be too hard on yourself. It was no one's fault, least of all yours. Try to move on—it was what Ginny would have wanted. By the way, thanks for everything._

_Warmest regards,  
Luna_

Harry simply stared at the words she written. He read them over and over again, trying to make some sense of what she was saying, but it just didn't get through to him. He didn't need people telling him how to live his life, especially one of his students, and he especially didn't need people reminding him of everything that had happened.

In a fit of rage, he crumpled the parchment violently and threw it across the room. It had been almost six months, exactly, since she'd died, and he still couldn't face it. He'd accepted her death a long time ago, but the crushing guilt that went with it threatened to suffocate him. If only he had done something sooner—if only he had made a better attempt at using his vast magical reserves for something _constructive_.

Instead, though, he'd ignored it. They both had. And as time passed, little did they know that the end was nearing. And…then…it was too late, and Harry would never know if he could have done anything. He missed her desperately, but that ache was slowly fading as time passed. The guilt got worse, though.

The guilt did, but that wasn't the only thing. Animosity towards Hermione and Ron had slowly been building, even though he hadn't seen them at all since the funeral. In his mind, he'd done absolutely nothing wrong. His was a revisionist memory—it was their entire fault. They had left him, and hadn't even bothered to come and say anything—not even when his wife had died. They had made eye contact, very briefly, at the end of the funeral, but that was it. They'd turned and left, and they might as well not have existed since then.

As time passed, he was able to accept the death, but his state of mind did not improve. In fact, it got worse. The guilt…the animosity…they both served to separate him from everyone else. He'd gone on teaching, and training, but that was all that he'd really done for six months now. He'd spoken hardly a word outside of the classroom, to anyone, and that included Helen.

There was some shame there, but it was far outweighed by the guilt over waiting. He couldn't bring himself to care—things like family and love and Helen just didn't seem that important to him anymore. In the back of his mind he knew that was a terrible way to think, but he shrugged it off.

His eyes went to the still-large pile of ungraded papers, and let out a small sigh. He didn't feel like doing this at all. He just wanted to take an extended vacation, away from Hogwarts, away from the Wizarding World, and most of all, away from everything that reminded him of Ginny, Ron, and Hermione.

Reluctantly, he reached for another paper, but stopped in mid-motion when a knock sounded. He looked up, and narrowed his eyes at what, or rather _who_, he saw. Hermione was standing in the doorway to his classroom. She kept looking behind her as if checking to make sure someone wasn't there. She was wearing low-cut jeans, a white t-shirt, and had her hair up in loose ponytail. Harry hadn't seen her in a long time, up close, and he was struck by how much she'd changed. She'd grown and filled out, no doubt from the Auror training, but it was her face that his eyes were drawn to. It looked…older…for lack of a better word, but not in the sense of normal aging. She looked tired. That was it. Her face was drawn.

"Yes?" he intoned, false politeness clearly ringing in his voice.

She regarded him silently for a moment, checking over her shoulder once again, before entering the classroom. She shut the door behind her, and walked slowly to the front row of his classroom. His eyes never left her as she made her way toward him. She sat in a chair in front of his desk, and looked down, regarding the floor.

"Yes?" he asked again, this time with a little impatience coming through. He hadn't seen her in six months. What did she expect him to say? She looked up finally, staring at him with her chocolate brown eyes, which he noticed, for the first time, were speckled with black.

"Harry…" she began, but trailed off. Harry started…he almost didn't recognize her voice. Had it really been that long since he'd heard it? He thought hard…yes, yes it had. He hadn't said a word to her since their graduation, a _year_ before. He cocked his head to the side, waiting.

She took a deep breath. "Look, if Ron knew I was here, he'd go absolutely spare."

Harry pursed his lips in disdain. That was _not_ what he wanted to hear. He didn't really care if Ron went spare. With some acid in his voice, he asked, "So then why _did_ you decide to grace me with your presence?"

She seemed to wince slightly at his tone, but Harry couldn't bring himself to feel any pity. If he was honest with himself, he hadn't exactly been sure if he was ever going to see them again, but here she was. And the first thing she says to him is Ron would have blown up to find her here.

Her eyes locked on Harry's for a moment, and he coolly held her gaze, before they slid just over his head and seemed to lose some of their focus.

"I guess…I guess in the end you start thinking about the beginning." She paused, but her eyes remained unfocused. Harry narrowed his eyes in thought. What could she possibly be talking about? That certainly was a weird way to start a conversation—the first one they'd had in a year.

She spoke again. "Do you remember what I was like when I first met you and Ron?" Her voice was soft, introspective, and almost dreamy.

Harry couldn't suppress a slight smile. He certainly did. He remembered with startling clarity how she had, in one breath, told Ron the spell he had tried wasn't very good, that she had learned all of their first year books already, and that the last thing she had told them was her name, almost as an afterthought

An image from the past suddenly came to his mind: Hermione, sweating, and very, very angry. He spoke. "'We could have all been killed—or worse, expelled.'"

Hermione's gaze focused on and shifted to Harry instantly. A soft smile graced her lips. "I will have you know that I was only _twelve_ when I said that." For an instant, Harry felt the old ease with her come back. It was the Hermione he used to know, sitting in front of him, the one he'd always been so comfortable with. It didn't last, though, because both of their smiles faded at the same time.

She folded her hands in her lap and stared at the top of the desk. Her face looked even more drawn than when she'd walked in.

"Why are you really here, Hermione?" Harry asked. It didn't do to dwell on the past, no matter how pleasant it might have been. She sniffed suddenly, and Harry was startled to see something glittering and shiny fall from her face to splash on the surface of the desk. She sniffed again, and lifted her head to look at Harry. There was what looked like a wistful smile there for a moment, and then it was gone. A mask had descended over her features, and her jaw was set in a hard line.

"Ron didn't even want to tell you, Harry. He insisted that you wouldn't care, and that it was better if we didn't."

Now Harry was really confused. Hermione wasn't usually very cryptic. "Tell me what?"

She reached into her pocket, slowly, and drew out a white envelope. She stared at it for a moment, before standing and walking forward the few steps to place it on Harry's desk. She looked at Harry from her higher position, sniffed once more, and turned to leave. She was halfway to the door before Harry found his voice.

"What is this?" he demanded, rising from his seat and coming around his desk. He stopped halfway between it and the front row. She stopped but did not turn. "What is this?" Harry asked again, softer. Her composure seemed to break, and her shoulders shook as a soft noise escaped her lips. She turned and ran towards Harry, and he saw that her face was shining with moisture.

She almost bowled him over with the strength of her embrace. She was hugging him very tightly, tighter than she ever had, and she pressed her cheek against his neck. He slipped his arms around her back and held her, unsure of what had brought on this amount of emotion so suddenly.

"Harry…" she sobbed softly, and he made a shushing noise. That seemed to make her come to her senses, and the embrace loosened. Harry's neck was wet where her tears had touched his skin, but it did not concern him. She backed out of his arms, wiping her eyes as she did so. There was a weird look on her face, one that Harry couldn't place. He had never seen her eyes look so intense before…so scrutinizing. That wasn't it, though; there was some emotion smoldering in there that he couldn't name. She shook her head slightly.

"I'm sorry…"she said as she turned once again, heading for the door.

"Hermione?" he called out, uncertainly.

She pulled open the door, and paused. Without turning around, she spoke again. "Goodbye, Harry." And she was gone.

Harry stood still for a moment, silently regarding the now empty doorway, before slowly returning to his desk. His mind was a blank canvas…he was so bewildered at what had just occurred that no thoughts were able to process themselves. He sat in his chair, staring vacantly ahead, replaying the scene. It made no sense. He picked his wand off his desk and fiddled with it as he mulled it over.

Then, he suddenly remembered the envelope she had placed on his desk. He looked for it, and there it was, resting innocently on the top of one of his textbooks. He reached for it, noting that the only thing written on it was _Harry_ in Hermione's familiar neat text. He turned it over, seeing that the flap wasn't even sealed. He reached in and pulled out the two pages of yellow parchment. They were both filled with that same neat handwriting. He leaned back in his chair as he started to read.

_Dear Harry,  
It is with a heavy heart that I sit down to compose this letter to you. Things certainly seem to have gone to hell, haven't they? I guess I can sum it up with a quote used by Mr. John Steinbeck, whom you may or may not have heard of: 'The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry'._

_I think that is perfectly apt to describe what has happened between the three of us, because for a while there, nothing could come between us. We were the consummate trio; we worked well with and off of each other. There was very little doubt, while we would all be successful and independent, that we would always be together._

_It seems, though, at some point, those plans went awry. Looking back, at the fourteen months since we defeated Voldemort, I can't pinpoint exactly when or where we went wrong. None of it makes any sense, really, and I'm sorry that we were all either too stubborn or too proud to fix this before it got out of hand._

_I know you may think it all started when you and I had our argument, but that was caused by something, something that I still can't figure out. Perhaps it is as the Muggles say: trauma causes very strange things to happen to people. Maybe we were so united because we all wanted Voldemort gone, and that was why we worked so well together. I refuse to believe that, though, because I don't want to make a mockery out of the friendship the three of us shared._

_It was real, and it was strong. Before I was introduced to the magical word, before I came to Hogwarts, I had no friends. You and Ron were the first, and were always the best. I was very close with Ginny, also, because she was like the sister I never had, but you and Ron always meant more. Through all of the pain we endured…through everything that happened when we were in school…I wouldn't trade any of it for what the three of us had those seven years._

_In any case, we have come to a crossroads. As the poet Robert Frost once wrote, 'Two paths diverged in a wood…' and I think that is where the three of us are. We have come to those diverging paths. Perhaps…perhaps if we had made stronger and more real attempts to reconnect with each other, this could have been avoided, but I'm afraid that it is too late for that. Ron and I will take one path, and you will undoubtedly take the other._

_If you are unsure as to the meaning of what I'm saying, it is goodbye. Ron and I have accepted positions as Aurors with the American Ministry of Magic, and we leave early on the 25th of June for the United States. Ron insisted that we leave without telling you, because you wouldn't care and that he didn't really want you to know, and I didn't argue with him, but…I have to see you. If you're reading this, I've probably already done that._

_Seven years of sharing the bond that we had cannot just be wiped away, no matter what Ron may think, and I must come and tie up some loose ends. I'm sorry, Harry…for everything. I'm sorry about Ginny. I'm sorry about what I said about you and Helen. I'm sorry for the state of things. I'm sorry that you had to be the one to defeat Voldemort. I'm sorry that I don't know how to make things right._

_I'm sorry that things have to end like this. Ron and I aren't expecting to return to England. My parents are moving to America, and with Ron's brothers scattered, it doesn't really feel like home to him anymore._

_I wish you the best of luck in all things, I truly do. I hope you know how much you mean to me, and how sorry I am. Good luck, Godspeed, and be safe._

_Love, always,  
Hermione_

Harry did not move for several minutes after his eyes stopped their back and forth trek across the pages of Hermione's letter. There was nothing that he could think or do that would reduce the impact of her words. They hit him like a blunt force, pressing the air from his lungs and compressing his stomach into tight, burning knots. He set the letter gingerly down on his desk, still rolling his wand between the fingers of his other hand.

This was it. The end had come at last. Just as he had with Ginny, he'd waited too long to fix his problems, and it was too late. Hermione and Ron were leaving, and unless he did something drastic, he'd probably never see them again. He leaned back into his chair, sagging a bit as that same apathy threatened to overwhelm him.

He snorted in irony. Apathy? That was what had gotten him to this point in the first place. If he couldn't ever get past it, and it certainly seemed like he wouldn't, he could never have a satisfying life again. His eyes roved around his classroom as he considered going after her, but he didn't. He just sat in his chair, contemplating everything that had happened.

The three of them had so many memories together, most of them encapsulated in the very place Harry was. Hogwarts was full of their lives, and as he thought about, numerous memories floated to the surface of his mind. He saw the first time he'd seen Ron Weasley, when he'd politely asked Molly how to get to Platform 9 ¾. He saw the first time he'd met Hermione Granger, when she'd burst into their compartment in a huff looking for a toad. He saw the first he'd ever seen Ginny, about the same time he'd seen Ron.

It was just as Hermione had said: in the end you started thinking about the beginning. Things had seemed so simple. Their friendship had been built on the foundation of trust, support, and love. Ginny had come into the picture much later, but she still had been very important to the three of them, each in their own way. She had been the first to go, too, but not from any fault of her own. Harry knew it was his fault that she had died, because he'd chosen to wait so long and that he'd avoided the topic. He knew he could have saved her.

And now…what? Ron and Hermione, the only two true friends he'd ever had, were gone. They were gone, with barely a word from Hermione and none from Ron. The three people that had gotten him this far in life, the three people he owed his very existence to—Ron, Hermione, and Ginny—were gone.

He stopped twirling his wand, gripping it tightly. A solitary tear dropped from his eyes, but he was too drained of everything to really cry. He looked down, staring straight at the tip of his wand. He felt so…empty. Empty and alone.

END OF PART ONE


	17. PART TWO,June 2009: All Things Lead Back

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: I apologize for the longer wait, but I was moving. Updates will mostly likely be a week or two apart now. Here's the start of part two. Enjoy!**

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**PART TWO, June 2009  
**Chapter 17: All Things Lead Back

Twenty-eight-year-old Harry rolled out of bed into a standing position and stretched. He was only wearing a pair of boxers, and most of the upper year females (and probably some of the males) at Hogwarts would have paid good money to see him like that. His raven hair was as shaggy as ever, but his twenties had been good to his face, as it had become rugged and stubbly. His training, which he had continued over the years, had helped him to become almost perfectly physically fit—he was sculpted but his muscles weren't huge. Anyone could tell there was a huge amount of raw power contained in him, just from how lithe and graceful most of his movements were.

It was early—the sun was just coming up—on this last day of another year at Hogwarts. It was June 23rd, 2009, and the students had one more day of classes before graduation. All finals, OWLS, and NEWTS were over with, and this last day was used as a way for teachers and students to have a little fun, all the while saying goodbye to one another. Harry slipped on a pair of running shorts and padded out of his room, pulling a battered pair of trainers on as he went. He no longer used the exit through the Gryffindor common room; instead, he had adjusted the portrait to bring him directly into the hall. The suite was quiet these days, with Helen in the Ravenclaw dorms, as she had been for seven years now.

Helen was quite the amazing student. She was head girl, Ravenclaw quidditch captain, and had achieved the highest OWL scores in the history of Hogwarts. She and Harry were still waiting on her NEWTS, but Harry was fairly sure it was going to be a repeat of what she had accomplished at the end of her fifth year. She had also grown and matured quite nicely—5'9", plenty of curves, and sleek, straight brown hair. Harry had observed some of the male population eying her lasciviously, but it was a silent notion at Hogwarts that messing with Helen would probably incur the wrath of everyone's favorite Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Harry smirked as he set off on his run, leaping down the last three steps onto the damp grass of the grounds. He loved teaching, and he was glad that it had all worked out this way. He couldn't imagine being an Auror. He would protect people with his life, but his days of wantonly chasing dark wizards were over. He might have been the most powerful wizard in the word, but his talents were not put to use in that area unless absolutely needed. He had once been called by the Australian Ministry of Magic to put down a problematic group of rogue wizards, and he had reluctantly agreed. He had only been in Australia for four hours. The crime rate—in Wizarding Australia, at least—had dropped off almost completely after Harry's little visit.

He had hated his fame during his teenage years, but it amused him now. It amused him to see the students unable to comprehend how normal he actually was when they first entered Hogwarts, and how most of them regarded him as a peer by the time they left. That was how he treated his students; they were his peers. He was not above them because he was older or more powerful. He had quickly discovered that it really was true that teachers learned things from their students on a daily basis.

Harry was moving quickly, at around a 5-minute pace, but he did not slow for nearly an hour. Over the years, his cardiovascular fitness had steadily improved to the point where he might have been one of the best distance runners in the world, but he never really raced. He liked to run alone, as it gave him time to organize his thoughts and order his mind, and he enjoyed the peaceful serenity of Hogwarts early in the morning. As it was now, nearing July, the mornings were fairly warm, so Harry ran without a shirt. When he passed the steps for a final time, he increased his speed, nearly sprinting. It was his tradition to do the final lap of the grounds at a sprint, and he did it every morning. As he came around to the entrance again, he heard a wolf whistle.

Coming to a stop, he rested his hands behind his head and looked up. He smiled when he saw who it was.

Chest heaving, he said, "Is there something I can do for you, miss?"

"Yeah, you can put on a bloody shirt, Dad." Helen rolled her eyes at her father's crooked grin. "I don't need to see all of my classmates practically tripping over themselves and drooling, which they will if they see you like that."

Harry shrugged and started up the steps. The sun glinted off his sweat…and Helen had to admit to herself that her father was a handsome bloke. She would never feel anything for him in _that_ way, because that would just be gross, but she _was_ still a warm-blooded human, and was surprised that he had remained single for so long. Sure, most of the girls he met around his age were after either his good looks or his wealth, but there should have been _someone_ during the past ten years who caught his fancy.

"Knut for your thoughts," Harry said, as he conjured a shirt for himself. He pulled it over his head, and then looked pointedly at Helen. It still amazed him that she was almost eye level—she used to be so small.

"Oh…nothing," she sighed. She gave Harry a crooked smile of her own, which she seemed to have inherited from him, and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "I just wish, well, you know. I wish you were _completely_ happy."

He slung an arm around her as they made their way up the stairs. It was still early, and there were very few people up. "I'm not sure what you mean, honey."

Helen shrugged his arm off once they reached the first floor landing and turned to look at him in the eyes. She was going to be blunt, if that's what it took. "Why haven't you tried to find anyone, Dad?"

Harry's face fell slightly, but it was such a small and passing gesture that most would have missed it. Helen, however, did not.

"I don't know, Helen…and I'd prefer not to have this same tired discussion all over again." He met her eyes again, and she soon dropped them. She shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm gonna get a shower. I'll see you at breakfast." With that, Harry turned and walked away.

Helen watched his retreating back, which eventually disappeared up the next flight of stairs. She kept bringing the subject up because it was bothering her. She wanted her father to be happy, and although he was most of the time, she could tell that he was lonely sometimes. She wanted him to happy _all_ the time, and that loneliness she saw was making that impossible.

Harry had improved drastically over the years, but there were still moments where she and a few other astute observers, who were close to Harry, could tell when things had crept back up on him. He wouldn't close himself off like he used to, but he wasn't as jovial or easy-going. She wanted him to be carefree all the time, and the lack of a love in his life was preventing that. It had been ten and a half years since her Mum's death; actually, Helen didn't even remember her all that well. She remembered what she looked like and what her personality was like, but she couldn't remember what her voice had sounded like.

Harry had moved on, in almost everything else, but that still remained. He had not been able to give his heart to anyone, and she hated to see him without that to complete his life. She sighed, shaking herself from her musings, and turned to head for the Great Hall.

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Harry pressed open the door to his classroom, thinking about this last class ever with Helen. He had the seventh year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws for his last lesson of the year, and he was astounded that seven years had passed so quickly.

He still remembered with a slight grin the very first class that Helen had had with him, and how she had basically taken it over when Harry was going to slow for her. Her classmates had been rather annoyed at the time, but that soon turned to amazement over the next few weeks as she displayed the depth and breadth of her knowledge. The seventh year Ravenclaws were the most advanced of any house, and that was probably due to Helen's place in their lives for seven years. She influenced people around her like that—her intelligence, enthusiasm, and drive was infectious, and it had even slowly spread to the other houses. By far, her year had the highest OWL scores in history, which Harry knew was partly due to the increased quality of teaching in the last decade or so, but he also secretly attributed some of that to Helen.

He sat down at his desk, waiting for the students to arrive, and continued to ponder the past. The past ten years had started off horribly, but with a little help here and there, Harry had come out of it a changed person. Helen, especially, had helped him, and he and her had been even closer. Their bond remained strong to this day, and at some point he had stopped thinking of her as his adoptive daughter—she was his blood in all the ways that mattered.

The other person he owed much of his current success and state of mind to was the Headmaster, and him and Dumbledore had continued to develop their friendship over the years. Harry had found an odd duality between them; sometimes, Dumbledore would feel like the mentor, but other times Harry would feel like a mentor to the old, wise man. It fit their relationship perfectly, and he thought that was why they got along so well together. It helped that they were both extremely powerful and trained constantly…actually, because Helen was almost as powerful as Dumbledore, the three of them were very close.

Harry, Helen, and Dumbledore could often be seen walking the grounds together, and many students wondered what such an eclectic group could be talking about. There was the one hundred and sixty-something-year-old Headmaster…the twenty-eight-year-old legend and hero of the Wizarding world, and an eighteen-year-old prodigy. They made for a formidable combination, as many of the students had heard tales of them fighting, together and separately, and each had a certain amount of ingrained respect these days.

Harry's head snapped up in momentarily surprise as the door to his classroom banged open, and he almost laughed as he calmed his racing heart. He had been so deep in thought he hadn't even heard his students approaching. He watched as the people he'd taught for all these years take a seat in his classroom, for the last time, and waved his wand to close the door once they were all seated. Helen was near the back, where she always was, talking to a few of her friends. They were a dark-haired girl named Anna and a blond-haired boy named Paul.

Harry cleared his throat and wrapped his knuckles on his desk; all chatter stopped and his class looked expectantly at him. Harry was silently pleased—he never took for granted the respect people showed him.

"So I trust you all did well on your NEWTS?" he asked. He was greeted with a host of nods and smiles, and he was glad to see that no one looked unhappy.

"Well, that is good news, indeed," Harry said, smiling.

A Gryffindor named Jacob raised his hand. "Professor, what will be doing today? Now that NEWTS are over…" he trailed off, giving Harry a questioning look.

"Ah, I'm glad that you have asked, Jacob," Harry replied. Those in the class could see his green eyes twinkling slightly, eerily similar to the way Dumbledore's did. "I thought I could make good on my promise and finally show some of you all what you've been wanting to see." He smiled that crooked grin when he saw a few faces light up. They knew what he was talking about.

"We've only been waiting _seven_ years for this," one Ravenclaw girl commented, loud enough for everyone to hear, and they all laughed, even Harry.

"I don't know about you, but I think I've been waiting _seventeen_," said another girl, and then stared openly at Harry. He shook his head bemusedly.

"Merlin…I hope I don't disappoint then…" and many of them laughed again.

"I have an idea," a familiar voice said, from the back of the class. The students and Harry turned to Helen; Harry raised an eyebrow. They all knew her ideas were usually worth listening to.

"Why don't Dad and I duel?" she asked, slyly. Harry mock glared at her, but he could see the class had already unanimously agreed with her. Some of them were fairly bouncing in their seats.

He let out a loud, theatrical sigh. "Fine," he just about whined, "but I think I need to remind you of something." His gaze zeroed in on Helen. "That's _Professor_, Miss Potter." The class laughed again. They always enjoyed the banter their professor and his daughter shot back and forth. She harrumphed and stood from her seat in a flowing motion. The training during the past decade had been good on her, too, and she was probably almost as physically fit as Harry was.

"I've got ten galleons on Helen!" Paul yelled, and he was soon taking bets for his classmates.

Harry looked affronted. He pouted. "I'm surprised you all have so little faith in my abilities." He smirked at Helen, who was sauntering up the middle row. "I'm pretty sure you're going down."

She raised an eyebrow in return. "Oh really?" Harry stood, shaking his head slightly and chuckling, and moved around his desk. He banished everything in the front of the room temporarily to his office with barely a twitch of his finger, but no one was surprised as they were all used to his seemingly routine displays of incredible magical power and prowess. He erected a shield so that nothing would hit the class, and conjured a large dueling platform for him and Helen. She was about to turn away, but she stopped when Harry rested a hand on her shoulder. He leaned in close.

"How do you want to do this?" he whispered in her ear.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…are we holding back? Are we ascending? _Fervens; Animus_?"

"Oh," she whispered, pausing to think. "Hmm…why not just go all out?"

Harry smiled; he had expected that of her. "Alright…I'll try not to hurt you," he finished louder.

The class chuckled. "You're going to eat your words, Potter," Helen responded, and then turned her back. There were some _oohs_ from the class, because she rarely called him that. It was, after all, slightly disrespectful. Harry didn't seem to care, though, and turned to go to his own side of the platform.

The class went silent as Harry and Helen stepped onto their respective sides. This was something they'd been waiting to see for a long time, and most of them had always had their suspicions that Helen was hiding a little something extra from them all.

They leaned back in sudden shock as an emerald green aura exploded from Harry. His robes were whipping in an indistinct breeze. They could all almost touch the love that was coming off of him. They were not surprised, however, at the presence of the aura itself. Many years ago, when they were first years, the Headmaster had explained to them all what him and Harry could do, with a brief demonstration. They had all only seen it a few times since, though.

Then they were genuinely surprised, though, because a vivid magenta aura flashed out from Helen. They all had no idea that she could do that as well, and there were some envious as well as awestruck stares. They could feel that she was excited; she was excited to be up there with her father and to finally be able to show off a little.

Harry raised his wand, and the class held their breath for the first spell, but when it came it wasn't directed at Helen. "_Increpitas Inflecto Forma Veres,_" he said, and they watched as his wand changed into a crimson and gold Crusader blade. "_Animus_," he intoned, and the red and gold flames flashed out into a brilliant inferno around the sword.

The class knew he could do this, but had only seen it once. To their great surprise, Helen repeated her father's and their professor's actions, changing her wand into a blue and bronze scimitar. "_Fervens_," she said, and the blue and bronze flames engulfed the sword. Many of the students leaned forward in anticipation—this surely was going to be something to remember.

"Ready, hun?" Harry called sweetly. He gave Helen a disarming smile.

She scowled at him, and then gave him her own bright smile. Her voice dripping with sugar, she replied, "You might want to be the one that's ready, _Dad_."

And then there was silence. No one breathed; no one moved. Harry and Helen were waiting for the other to make the first move, and the class was just waiting for the action to start. Harry raised his sword a fraction of an inch, and that was all Helen needed.

"_Expelliarmus!_" she cried, and the class was slightly disappointed. They knew that the disarming spell was a simple one, and they were hoping for some fireworks. They weren't disappointed, though, because as Harry had easily blocked it, Helen had Apparated across the platform just behind her spell.

With his slight distraction, he hadn't noticed, and Helen was sweeping the flat of her blade toward his knees. He countered it just in time, and there was a loud, resonating ringing noise as the metal met. Harry and Helen stared ferociously into each other's eyes for a moment, straining against the other's strength, before Helen leapt back, displaying her acrobatic abilities with a tight back flip.

Harry then seemed to soar toward her, aiming his Crusader blade at her shoulders, but she countered it, and swung her scimitar. They did this for a little while, and Harry had to work over time to keep up with her flurry of blows. She was still, even ten years later, more skilled and a bit faster with a sword than he was.

Helen dropped to the floor and swept her feet toward Harry's, but he was quick enough to leap forward over her to get out of the way. As he was halfway through his somersault, he brought his sword down toward her back, but Helen parried it, rolling to her feet in a smooth motion. Harry landed and rolled away, coming up ready to parry more blows.

He straightened when he noticed Helen smirking at him. He cocked his head to the side.

She raised _Fervens_. "_Du apparens_," she said, and the flames became even brighter for a moment. Then, with a pop, and exact copy of the scimitar appeared in the air next to the real one. She nimbly caught it by the handle before it could drop to the floor.

"Raising the stakes, are we?" Harry asked. The class barely registered the fact that he had spoken, because they were still amazed and taken aback at how fast they had been moving. It was almost too fast for their eyes to watch; Helen, in particular, looked like a blur.

Harry raised _Animus_ and repeated the process, and he was soon wielding too hefty Crusader blades. He was strong enough to handle it now, but he was a little worried about parrying twice as many blows from her. He did have another sword, like her, but he just wasn't that fast.

Helen flew into the air, twirling at Harry. She had extended the scimitars, and they were a whirlwind of death as they flew toward Harry. He crossed his blades in an x-shape in front of him, backing up a little as Helen came down. He flinched as she hit them several times in the space of a second, and then sawed one blade and then the other down toward her just as she landed. She rolled away, parrying the first, and receiving a glancing blow on the shoulder from the second.

"Good thing these blades are dulled, eh?" Harry called, as he strained to ward off her counter. The swordplay went on for many minutes, and the class could only watch mesmerized by what they were witnessing. Harry and Helen were lightning quick, deadly, flexible, and acrobatic. Their reflexes were astounding, and the fact that Harry could wield two Crusader blades one-handed, which were quite large, was a testament to his physical strength.

Helen seemed to be getting the upper hand, though, as she was clearly scoring more blows than Harry was. Just as Harry was about to be driven off an end of the platform, he Apparated to the opposite side, facing Helen. She whirled, flipping the scimitar so she was holding it by the fire-engulfed blade as she did so, and hurled it mightily at Harry. Harry dropped one of his blades and caught it out of the air, only to have it disappear. It had been the copy. He looked down, noticing that his own copy had disappeared.

"Shall we move on to bigger and better things?" Helen asked. "_Clearly_, we can tell who's the better swordsperson." Harry snickered at her. "What?" she asked, mildly offended.

"Oh, nothing…it's just, you're young and you have a lot to learn." He smiled at her death glare. "You may be faster than me, Helen, but I'm still more powerful." He had his teaching voice on, which Helen recognized, and her death glare changed into a thoughtful look.

"Doesn't the trade-off balance out, though?" All playfulness was gone from her voice, because she knew Harry was a master tactician. She wanted to hear his opinion. They both had seemingly forgotten the class was there.

"That all depends," Harry started, scratching the back of his head for a moment. "In a magic-only situation, the more powerful usually wins. In a physical combat situation, the faster usually wins—over both the magically and physically more powerful. However, in a situation where magical and Muggle combat are mixed, you would have to force it to your advantage."

Helen nodded slowly. "So I would want to try to make the duel be more physically oriented, whereas you, if you were against someone like me, would try to force it to be more magical."

"Yes, exactly," Harry said. Many members of the class were nodding, as it definitely made sense.

"Alright, well how do you want to proceed?"

"Exactly as we have been, but let's try to mix some magic in as well," Harry responded.

Helen nodded and set herself once again. Harry's eyes briefly went to the class, seeing that they were all entranced, and he set himself as well.

Suddenly, Helen started sprinting across the platform toward Harry. Harry stood there, not moving, trying to perceive what she was up to. She raised her hand, the one without the sword, and yelled, "_Bombarda!_" A pressure wave seemed to sweep forth from her outstretched palm, covering the short distance between Harry and her in microseconds. Harry barely had time to slice down the center of it with his sword, but he was blown back off his feet by a second spell, that she had cast silently.

He rolled through the air and landed somewhat on his feet. He Apparated a short distance a way, hearing the clang of Helen's scimitar hitting the floor where he had just been.

He willed a strong _Protego_ up around him, and the class watched as solid gold magical barrier snapped into place without a motion or speech from Harry. He whirled and parried a physical blow from Helen, and started to gather his energy. He kept Helen occupied with his sword, trying to distract her from what he was really doing. He was readying himself for a large magical outburst—one that would hopefully end the duel.

Helen seemed to catch on though, and Apparated across the room. Harry and Helen's Apparation wasn't strange to anyone, because they all knew that a select few could do it within Hogwarts, but it was annoying to try and find the combatants after they had done so.

Harry laughed. "You can't escape that easily, Helen." The green aura surrounding him was getting brighter and brighter, and Harry stalked across the room to where he knew Helen was. She had cast an Invisibility charm on herself, but through his advanced powers he could make out the vague outline of her. She was in a corner, seemingly gathering her own magical energy, either to counter or block Harry's.

Suddenly, Harry was knocked forward…into the very corner where he thought Helen had been. She must have copied herself, and then hidden her real self very well. Harry Apparated from the corner to a spot ten feet behind him, and smirked when he saw he was right behind Helen.

She whirled, but it was too late. He had already released the pent up energy. The class heard a hissing noise as the air behind the shield seemed to rush together, and then there was a shockwave as Harry's magical force expanded outward. Helen had just enough time to cross her arms in front of her and hastily raise a _Protego_, but as Harry had said, he was more magically powerful. His magic crashed against and then through her barrier, throwing her across the room. Her sword skittered from her, reverting back to wand form.

Harry Apparated across the room to her, ready to continue fighting, but he could see that she was slightly dazed. He smiled sheepishly at her and lent his hand, pulling her up. She slowly brushed herself off and picked up her wand. She shook her head, as if to clear it.

"Ouch…" she almost groaned.

"Can you tell me what you did wrong?" Harry asked. Helen smiled inwardly, even though her head was pounding. Harry never passed up teaching opportunities.

"Er…I let the duel become too magical."

"Well, yes, but there is something else." When Harry paused, Helen raised her eyebrow at him. "You could have used your sword's innate ability to counter magic to fend off at least a quarter of what I put out."

Helen rolled her eyes. "Damn it all. And I go for the stupid _Protego_."

"Now, wait a second…_Protego_ isn't stupid. It's highly effective, and even more so if used with other means of blocking and countering." He gave her a pointed look.

"Yeah, yeah, all right, I get the point. You beat me, fair and square."

Harry smiled. "So that's…what? Three thousand, you; three, me?"

Helen laughed at him. He loved to see her face light up like that. Her brown eyes seemed to sparkle. As Harry returned to his normal magical form, he finished, "I don't think you have anything to worry about, sweetie."

Helen descended as well, and with a wave of her hand, the shield protecting the class went down. She slipped her arm around her father's shoulder. He smiled at her, and then looked to the rest of the class.

"Well, that's it." He watched as they began to gather their things. "I'm very happy to have been able to teach each and every one of you. All of you have great things in your future, if you apply yourselves. My door is always open; if you need anything in the future, anything at all, don't hesitate to come to me."

There were a smattering of thank yous, smiles, and a few came up to shake Harry's hand. As the door closed behind the last one to exit, Harry turned to Helen.

"Well that was fun, wasn't it?"

She nodded. "Oh, definitely." Her smile broadened. "I just wished I'd beaten you!"

Harry tightened his arm that was around her back for a moment, and pecked her cheek. He then turned away and started to clean up his desk. "You can't win 'em all; although, you just about do."

"What can I say?" she said airily. "I'm bloody brilliant."

"And bloody _arrogant_!" Harry teased. He glanced at her, noticing that she had stuck her tongue out at him. "Did I mention immature, as well?"

She playfully shoved Harry, and then gave him a peck on his cheek of her own. "I'll see you at dinner, Dad." Harry nodded, and turned back to cleaning up his desk. He listened to her gather her stuff, pad to the door, and then exit. The door closed with a soft click.

----------

Harry rested on the couch in his quarters, attempting to read part of a textbook he had in mind for the next year's classes, but his mind kept wandering. He sighed and closed the book, setting it down on the coffee table. He hadn't realized it at the time, but what Helen had said to him had affected him.

Sure, she had casually brought it up, but Harry's love life was somewhat of a sore spot. Ever since…Ginny had died, so many years ago now, he'd just never been that comfortable with a woman. He'd been on plenty of dates, and had even been in two serious relationships, but things had just never clicked.

He knew that he was approaching thirty, which was extremely old to be a bachelor in the Wizarding world, but there always seemed to be something that stopped him from going any further than serious dating. As he settled back into the comfortable, plush couch, his thoughts went to the events of three years prior…

----------

_It was the end of June 2006, and Harry was wrapping up another year's work. He only had a few more things to put away, as all the students' papers were graded, and was working fast to get the last bit done. It had been a long year…well, it felt like one, for some reason, and he was looking forward to six weeks of relaxation._

_He shrunk the last box and stored it in the bottom drawer of his desk, and then waved his wand across the classroom. The desks moved to the back of the room, stacking and neatly arranging themselves so they were out of the way. Empty like this…with everything put away or moved to the corners…his room felt so big. He turned in a complete circle, checking to make sure everything was in order, but stopped when his eyes came to rest on the door to his classroom. Standing there was a face from the past: Melanie Brown._

_She had shoulder length blond hair, fair and unblemished skin, and a very nice figure for a 19-year-old. Even though Harry was almost twenty-six, he could appreciate her good looks. He furrowed his brow for a moment, puzzling over why she was there. She still hadn't noticed that he'd seen her, as she was gazing down the corridor, so he had time to think. She had graduated the previous year, Head Girl and one of the smartest witches in the last century at Hogwarts. Only Hermione and Helen, who was four years younger, rivaled her. He vaguely remembered hearing something about her taking a top position at the Ministry, and had no idea why she would be here now._

_She finally noticed that he was looking at her, and smiled. She had a pristine smile. "Hello, Professor…or can I call you Harry?"_

"_Mm…Harry is fine, Miss Brown." He raised an eyebrow. "I presume it _is_ still miss?"_

"_Yes, it is, but please, call me Melanie."_

"_Alright…" When she didn't say anything further, Harry forged on. "So why are you here today, Melanie?"_

_For a moment, she looked hesitant, or maybe uncomfortable, but it passed, and that golden smile lit across her face once again._

"_Well, Harry…I was wondering if, um…"_

"_Spit it out, Melanie," he said, smiling at her. "You were never afraid to speak out in class."_

_More white teeth flashed, and she continued. "I was wondering, well…I was wondering ifyouwantedtogooutsometime?"_

_Harry shook his head. "What? A little slower, please…"_

_She took a deep breath. "I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime?"_

_Harry blinked. What the hell? "Umm…"_

"_That is, if you thought it would be a good idea," she added quickly._

_Harry felt like he was missing something; he was half expecting the twins to jump out and announce it as some big joke. He scratched the back of his head. "Err…Melanie, I don't really know."_

_Her face fell. He noticed what looked like genuine hurt in her eyes. Maybe this wasn't some joke… "I was your teacher…that probably isn't a good idea."_

_She pursed her lips. "Yes, you _were_ my teacher. You aren't anymore, though. All that ethics bullshit doesn't really apply anymore, does it?"_

_Things were too out of control for Harry to comprehend it all. Her mood and the tone of her voice were shifting faster than he could snap his fingers. What really confused him, though, was that she and him had never really been _that_ close as student and teacher. She had always been on top of things, and had rarely…if ever, actually…come to him for help. This all felt really out of left field._

"_Help me out here, for a second. Am I missing something, Melanie?" he asked._

_She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head. "What do you mean?"_

"_What…why are you asking me this? What brought this on?" At her confused look, he continued. "We were not very close as teacher and student, so I'm at a loss here."_

_Her cheeks turned a light shade of pink. "I was always too afraid, Prof…Harry. I've always admired you, though, ever since that very first class when you disillusioned all of us of our fantasies."_

"_I did what?"_

"_You knocked yourself down off that pedestal we all had you on, and I admired you for it. I was expecting an arrogant, pompous prick; instead, my DADA teacher for seven years was sweet and kind and nothing like the Harry Potter I thought you would have been."_

_Harry felt his own cheeks warm a little. "Umm, thanks."_

_She dipped her head. "I was too much of a pussy—" but she cut off at Harry's shocked face._

"_Oh, come on, surely you've heard _girls_ with potty mouths before." When Harry didn't say anything, she rolled her eyes. "Well, anyways, I was too much of a _pussy_," she continued, placing special emphasis on the naughty word, "to do anything about that."_

_Harry's lips twitched. She had fire in her, this one. "You always participated in class…in fact, I seem to remember you liked to correct me from time to time."_

"_Ah yes, and don't you know why?"_

_She rolled her eyes once again when Harry shook his head. "Come on! I was flirting with you. Apparently, it was really obvious, too, because many people teased me about it. The first date I ever went on, you know what the boy said to me?"_

_Of course Harry didn't know, so he shook his head again. "'How am I going to compete with Professor Potter?'" Harry snorted at the image, and Melanie chuckled as well. His eyes were drawn to her bouncing chest…but he quickly stopped that train of thought. She had been his _student

_He raised his eyes to hers, and he saw that she must have noticed where his eyes had went, because she was smirking slightly at him. He blushed a little deeper._

"_Yes, well, I'm quite certain that I never noticed it."_

"_Well…what do you say? Wanna go out sometime?"_

"_Oh, I dunno…" Harry said. This was all very weird to him. "Why did you wait so long, if this was your master plan? You graduated a year ago now…"_

"_Like I said, I was too much of a—"_

"_Alright, alright, I get it," he said, cutting her dirty mouth off. "But like I said, I don't know if I'd be comfortable with it."_

_Her face fell again. Her voice was very quiet when she spoke. "What's wrong? Is it me?"_

_Harry inwardly groaned. "No, no, it's not you. Actually, you're wonderful, really. You're smart, beautiful, funny, have a dirty mouth…" he trailed off. That immaculate smile had returned. "It's just…I don't know if I'm ready for this at the moment."_

_She pouted; her ruby red lower lip came out the slightest bit. "Just give it a try?" Harry looked skeptical. "I won't bite…hard," she smirked. There was something about the sultry way she had said that, with just the right amount of true passion, that overcame any doubts he had._

"_Alright…alright…when?"_

_She fairly squealed in delight, and ran up to Harry, throwing her arms around him. Stunned, he awkwardly patted her back._

"_I knew you'd say yes! How about…how about tonight?"_

"_Well…yeah, I guess that'd work out. School _is_ over for the year." Melanie backed away and conjured a piece of parchment and a quill, scribbling something down. She handed it to Harry._

"_That's my address. Pick me up at eight?"_

"_Yeah, sure…but, where are we going?"_

"_How about out to dinner and then dancing." She looked thoughtful. "I know of a few good places in Muggle London. That way you won't be recognized." She winked at him._

_Harry let out a soft laugh. He actually might enjoy himself. "Alright. I'll see you at eight."_

_She nodded, and turned to leave, but he noticed that her gaze lingered on him for a little longer than normal as her body pivoted. Suddenly, he felt very hot. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she was undressing him in her mind. He sincerely hoped that she wasn't only after his body._

_As it turned out, she wasn't, and their relationship quickly became quite serious. They dated quite a few times through that summer, and as fall came about, they began to see each other almost every night. Harry was busy with teaching, as she was with her job, but they found time for each other. Harry loved the ease with which he could talk to her; she had a great sense of humor and nothing, absolutely nothing—even the raunchiest of raunchy jokes—offended her._

_He was definitely feeling something for her, but he was reluctant to call it love. If he was honest with himself, he didn't know if would ever be able to feel love again. There was _something_, though, and as winter rolled around, they were ready to take their relationship to the next level. One evening near Christmas, they were holed up in his suite in Hogwarts, snuggled together on the couch. There was a roaring fire and they both had hot chocolate in their hands. The quilt Harry had pulled over them was very comfortable._

_Things escalated quickly, and the hot chocolate was soon forgotten. Just as they were about to consummate their relationship, though, Harry put the brakes on. It was sudden and Melanie was shocked, but Harry couldn't help it. It didn't feel right. He had only given himself to one person like that, and it caused a pain deep in his chest, somewhere behind his heart, to be reminded of Ginny so vividly._

_Melanie had asked what was wrong, but Harry was unable to say. He just couldn't put into words what he was feeling. She had begun to cry, thinking that it was she, and had left in tears before Harry could stop her. He had tried to contact her several times during the following days, but all of his attempts went unanswered. Finally, he had just Apparated over the Ministry._

_When she saw him, however, she had, in no uncertain terms, told him that she never wanted to see him again. Harry was shocked…and hurt. He had thought that she cared more about just the sex, but apparently, if she didn't want anything to do with him because he hadn't wanted to do that just yet, it really was about that._

_Harry never saw her again after that day, and hadn't been involved in a serious relationship since. He couldn't face that kind of rejection another time, and the hurt from the loss Ginny was still festering somewhere deep inside him._

----------

Harry snorted and bolted upright. He looked around dazedly for a moment, blinking his eyes rapidly, trying to get his bearings. As the room came into focus, he realized he must have fallen asleep at some point. He cast a time charm as he rubbed his eyes, seeing that it was almost dinner. He yawned and stretched, working the kinks out of his body. He hadn't slept on a couch in a long time, and he probably wouldn't again for a longer time. It was remarkable how much sorer he felt doing that now than when he was eighteen.

He went into the bathroom to freshen himself up. He splashed some water onto his face, and grabbed the hand towel to dry it off. As it slowly lowered over his face, he stared at himself in the mirror; his hands slowly dropped to his sides.

The startling green eyes stared back at him, taking in their counterpart as well. He noticed some lines that he hadn't seen before around his eyes, and the corners of his mouth, but besides that and the stubble, it hadn't really changed much since his teenage years. He blinked once, and shook his head. He cleared the last tatters of memories of Melanie away, and made for the portrait hole.

Harry stopped suddenly. What was he doing? He shook his head ruefully, and disappeared from his suite, reappearing behind the Head Table in the Great Hall. The Professors were all there, and the students had just started to file in.

"Ah, Harry, glad you could make it," a familiar voice said, and Harry turned with a smile on his face. The Headmaster was sitting there, grinning at him.

"Yeah, I decided to be lazy today," Harry countered.

"I wouldn't call it laziness; I would call it efficiency," the old man said. His bright blue eyes were twinkling. Harry inclined his head to him as he sat down. The Headmaster hadn't really changed over the years. In fact, he actually looked a bit younger because of the training him, Harry, and Helen had been doing so much of.

"So, it's the end of another year, Albus," Harry said, as he settled comfortably into the seat next to the Dumbledore.

"Indeed, Harry."

Most of the students had entered the Hall and had sat down. "How do you think the year was?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore glanced at the full Hall. "Just a moment," he said, and stood up. Raising his voice, he addressed the students. "And we have come to the end of another glorious year at Hogwarts. I hope you all studied hard and found time to enjoy yourselves, as well. I will have more end of term announcements after the meal, but for now, tuck in!" A wondrous feast popped into place on the tables around the giant room. Dumbledore sat down, placing some succulent roast beef onto his plate.

"Alright…where were we?" he mused, as he took a bite. "Ah, yes, this past year." Harry chuckled in amusement at the old man's antics as he piled his own food on his plate.

"I think it has been wonderful, Harry."

Harry turned to him. "Care to embellish?"

"Well, let's see…we have had the highest attendance ever at Hogwarts this year, as well as the highest OWL and NEWT scores in history—"

"You already know them?" Harry interrupted him.

"Why yes, of course."

"But I thought the students don't receive them until late July?" Harry crunched on salty, greasy, wonderful fries, waiting for an answer.

"Yes, they do receive them quite late, I guess. Harry, the Ministry has them graded by the next day."

Harry's face contorted. "Why the hell do they wait so long then?" He was imagining Helen's increasing panic as the date came closer for the arrival of her scores, and it annoyed him slightly that it could be avoided.

Dumbledore shrugged. "Perhaps they enjoy making the students wait."

Harry mumbled something under his breath, and Dumbledore chuckled at him. "So…going back to what you said…you've seen them then, Albus?"

He nodded. "Yes, I have."

"Oh? And how did Helen do?"

"Worried are you, Harry?"

"What? No, of course not. I just want to mollify her nervousness if I can."

The corners of Dumbledore's lips lifted. "Ever the concerned father, I see," the Headmaster said lightly. Harry mock glared at him.

"Out with the scores, old man."

"She received an O+ on every single one of her NEWTS, Harry."

Harry almost choked on his food. "Really?" he breathed.

"I know how you feel, Harry. I was astounded myself. The most O+'s that have ever been acquired by a single student is one, and she went and got them all."

"Well…Merlin…I guess there aren't any doubts left that she really is an heir to Rowena," he joked.

"No, definitely not," Dumbledore agreed.

"She will be happy, that's for sure."

"I think, Harry, that _that_ is an understatement," Dumbledore imparted, and Harry chuckled a bit. He had to agree with him. Helen would be more than happy. There probably wasn't an adequate word to describe how happy she would actually be.

"To answer your question further, though, it has been a good year, and not just at Hogwarts."

"How so?" Harry questioned.

"The Ministry is finally making headway with the giants, and some new legislation was passed with regard to werewolf rights. They can now own and operate their own business if they so choose."

Harry furrowed his brows. "How is Remus these days, Albus?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Remus is great, Harry. He really enjoys his work at the Ministry, and I wouldn't be surprised if he someday is Deputy to the Minister or Minister himself. He holds a great deal of respect there."

"No surprise there. All of his students held a great deal of respect for him."

"Yes, they did…how about you, though?" Dumbledore asked.

"Hmm?"

"How was your year, Harry?"

"Oh…well it was fine, can't complain. All of my students were great, this new curriculum that we've been developing is working out well…" His voice slowly trailed off, though.

Dumbledore looked at him. "Harry? What is it?"

"Oh…nothing. I'm just…I just can't believe that Helen is already graduating. It all goes so fast. Seems like just yesterday she was being sorted."

Dumbledore smiled fondly. "Yes…it does. She is a wonderful person, Harry. You know why, right?"

Harry turned his head and looked at the Headmaster. "Because she is?"

"Well, partly, yes, but there is another reason." He paused. "You, Harry. She turned out so well because of you."

Harry waved it off. "Sure, say what you will, but she gets most of the credit. I was just there to help her along the way. And," he said, smiling a bit, "she was there to help me along the way, too."

"Indeed."

They ate in silence for a few moments after that. Harry's eyes went to the rest of the teachers at the Head table. There was Flitwick, who was just as tiny, cheerful, and squeaky as ever…there was McGonagall, who was still stern and probably the most impartial teacher in the school…there was Sprout, who had some dirt smudged on her cheeks…there was Snape, who still had greasy hair and pale skin. Harry's eyes rested on Snape for a moment.

"Albus?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Did you find anyone to replace Severus yet?"

Dumbledore looked sideways at him. "You will just have to wait to find out, like the students and the rest of the teachers." His blue eyes were twinkling extra fast.

"Alright…I guess that means yes, though. Hmm…who could it be…" Harry pondered out loud. He really had no idea. He didn't know of any other potions masters that would have wanted the job.

"No hints, Albus?"

"No, Harry, I'm afraid not." The blue eyes were positively blinding now. Harry knew that something was up, but the old man could be inordinately stubborn when he wanted to be.

"Fine…I'll wait."

"There was never any doubt in my mind that you would." Dumbledore chuckled at the glare that Harry gave him. Just then, dessert showed up. It was a fine spread, and Harry greatly enjoyed the cherry tart. He had three slices of it.

Finally, Dumbledore stood up, and with a wave of his hand, the Great Hall was cleared of its food. He looked down over his half-moon spectacles at the students sitting before him.

"Now that we are all fed and watered, I have several end of term announcements for all of you."

He paused, and a vast silence swept through the Hall. Harry almost snickered to himself. He remembered when he had thought of Dumbledore as some king of legend, like most of these students did, but that changed as he got to know the man. Dumbledore was wise and powerful, but he wasn't legendary.

"The first is an old man's plea: tonight, have fun and party, but be safe. Enjoy your last night at Hogwarts, but _be safe_. Graduation is tomorrow, and I expect you all to be healthy and fit for it." There were murmurs of agreement.

"Secondly, there are several changes in staff that I must make you aware of. The first involves your Potions teacher, Professor Snape." Dumbledore glanced over at Snape, whose face remained impassive. "He has decided to open an Apothecary in Diagon Alley to make further use of his mastery, and that leaves the position vacant."

This was what Harry had wanted to know. He was curious as to who was replacing Snape. "Therefore, I think you will all be pleased to learn that your Potions teacher next year will be none other than Helen Potter."

Harry's eyes snapped to his daughter, who had stood up from the Ravenclaw table and was smiling around the room. She met his eyes and her gaze became slightly pleading; Harry shook his head lightly for a moment, and then smiled. He was a little shocked, but what could he do? She was an adult, and she could make her own decisions. Besides, he was happy for her, and happy that she would stay close to him.

After the smattering of applause had died down, Dumbledore continued. "And I must thank you, Helen, for graciously accepting the position. Now," he said, glancing toward McGonagall, "there is one other position—well, two, actually—that I needed to fill. Your Transfiguration teacher, Professor McGonagall, has decided that it is time for her to retire." There were some _awws_, and Harry made eye contact with her, but he wasn't really that surprised. He had been expecting it actually. She had been slowing down somewhat in the past few years. She nodded at him, and he smiled back.

"As you all know, she was my deputy, and we need to fill that spot as well as her position as Professor." He paused, looking at Harry. "If he will accept the position, I would be honored to have Professor Potter be my Deputy Headmaster."

Harry blinked. That was unexpected. He looked to Flitwick, whom he thought was the obvious choice, but the diminutive man merely smiled and clapped along with the rest. Harry stood and inclined his head toward the Headmaster. Of course he would be his Deputy. As the clapping subsided, he returned to his seat and looked down at the table. He just kept on getting surprised.

"That takes care of that, but we still have the matter of who will be teaching Transfiguration." There was a silence, but Harry still stared at the table, listening. "After much deliberation, and several candidates, Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and myself reached a conclusion."

Another pause. Harry could sense Dumbledore's eyes on his head for some reason. Dumbledore continued. "Your new Transfiguration teacher will be Hermione Granger."

Harry's heart stopped. He raised his eyes slowly, passing over Dumbledore's expressionless face, and brought them across the Hall. There, in the open doorway, was twenty-nine-year-old Hermione Jane Granger.


	18. What Tangled Webs We Weave

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: Enjoy!**

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Chapter 18: What Tangled Webs We Weave

Harry could do nothing but stare at the figure in the doorway. He was vaguely aware that the students were leaving the Hall, but that was only because one occasionally obstructed his view of Hermione. Her eyes were locked on his as well.

She started toward the front of the room, walking slowly up the center aisle of the Hall. Harry didn't know what to do, or how to feel. He did know that she was beautiful, though, and he couldn't remember ever thinking that about her before. Sure…there was the Yule Ball, but that had been a fourteen-year-old's thoughts of 'pretty'. Movement to the right drew his attention, and he saw that Helen hadn't left the Great Hall yet. She was standing off to the side, glaring at Hermione.

Hermione stopped before the Head Table, looking between each of its occupants. Most of the Professors were smiling at her; finally, her gaze came to rest on Harry, and inexplicably, an alien feeling welled up inside him. He had felt it before…at least he thought he had…but he couldn't place it. Overwhelmed, confused, and a little angry, he did the only thing that came to mind. Harry Disapparated from the Great Hall.

Confusion ensued for a moment after Harry's abrupt disappearance. Several Professors looked affronted, Helen looked smug, and Dumbledore looked apologetic. He let them titter amongst themselves for a moment.

"All right, that's enough… Hermione, welcome back—I'm glad you accepted the position. There really weren't many with your credentials."

She nodded, and a slightly confused and pleading look came into her eyes. Dumbledore shrugged lightly, and gave her a pointed look. Helen pushed herself from the wall and strode past Hermione down the center aisle. Just as she reached the door, a voice stopped her.

"Helen, wait." It was Hermione.

She did not turn; instead, she merely cocked her head to the side. "Yes?" Everyone present could hear the annoyance in her voice.

Hermione hesitated. She hadn't been expecting to hear the venom that was directed toward her. "Err…do you know where Harry went?"

Helen folded her arms across her chest, which, from the back, made her look taller and straighter. "Probably."

"Well…where then?" Hermione pressed.

Helen was a silent for a moment. "Why should I tell you?"

Hermione threw up her hands in frustration. She turned to look at the Professors, but noticed the only one left was Dumbledore. That was odd…where had the rest gone? Dumbledore's face remained impassive, however, with the exception of that pointed look. After another moment, he too Disapparated from the Hall. Hermione stared at the empty space for a moment, before she turned back around. Helen had not moved.

"Please…I need to talk to him…" Hermione implored.

Helen seemed to grow angry, because her back went rigid. "What makes you think he'd want to talk to you?" she almost growled.

Hermione didn't know what to say. The hostility confused her. "Look…could you just tell me where to find him?"

"No." Helen exited the Hall and disappeared around a corner.

Hermione stood in the empty Great Hall for a moment, trying to muddle through her addled brain. The silence in giant room was becoming oppressive, though, and she decided to go after Helen. She ran to the exit, looked around quickly, and saw Helen was going up the stairs. She rushed to catch up, and was a little out of breath by the time she did. With a sideways glance, she noticed Helen's face was set in a hard line.

"What's the problem, Helen?"

Helen made a noise of disgust, or disbelief, or maybe both, and whirled to face Hermione. Hermione's eyes widened at the unmasked hatred she saw in the younger woman's gaze.

"What's the problem? WHAT'S THE PROBLEM?" Helen's voice rose to monumental levels at the end, and Hermione recoiled a bit.

"I don't understand…" she squeaked.

"I thought you were supposed to be brilliant, or something?" Helen sneered at her.

Now Hermione's ire was rising a bit. "Now, wait a minute, don't you dare—"

Helen cut her off, though. "Save it, Hermione. I don't want to hear it. Do you…" she seemed to struggle to control herself, "do you have any—ANY—idea what you did to Harry?" Hermione shrugged helplessly. It wasn't often that she was at a total loss for words.

"You…_you_…" Helen started, but cut herself off, shaking her head. She couldn't seem to say what she wanted to, and her face was turning an alarming shade of scarlet. Finally, she took a deep breath, and it seemed to calm her.

"Just…stay away. That's all I can say. If Harry wants to see you, _he_ will come to _you_." Helen turned and continued up the steps. Hermione watched her go for a few moments, and then slowly made her way up the stairs as well. She remembered where Harry had used to live…maybe he'd still be there.

----------

Helen was having an extremely difficult time controlling her temper. When she had first seen Hermione, she had almost hexed her on the spot. She barely remembered Hermione, but she did remember what she had done to Harry. Actually…time had served to make the memory worse than it really was, or at least that's the way she saw it.

Her musings had brought her to the Room of Requirement, and she paced in front of the door three times, thinking about a place where she could relax and sort through things. There was something that had been bothering her for all these years, and Hermione's return had brought it back to the front of her mind. When she opened the door to the Room, she saw a small, comfortable sitting area.

She settled into one of the plush armchairs and leaned back. There was something about that day so long ago that didn't sit right with her, and although she had done it many times before, she felt the need to go over what she remembered…

----------

_Helen was restlessly walking the warm corridors of Hogwarts. It had been a tough six months for her, for her father, and for many other people, and she was feeling more and more saddened by what was going on around her. She went to the Headmaster more often than she did Harry now._

_She turned a corner and strolled down another hallway; the sun was coming through the high windows in colorful bands, making the hallway appear to be striped. She stopped for a moment in one of them, basking in the warmth, and turned her face to the window. She always loved the feel of the warm summer sun beating against the skin of her cheeks. In all her seven years—almost eight, now—it was one of her most favorite things to do._

_Noise caught her attention, though, and the sun was soon forgotten. She looked down the hallway, and saw a familiar figure cross in front of her, walking down a perpendicular corridor. She furrowed her forehead in thought. Why would Hermione Granger be at Hogwarts now? She hadn't seen the girl in a very long time…her father's wedding was the last. And that was…almost a year before._

_Curious, she decided to follow Hermione. Rounding the corner, she saw Hermione walking in the direction of her father's classroom, and Helen continued to trail her. It made no sense to the young girl to see Hermione at Hogwarts._

_Hermione paused for a moment, and Helen disappeared behind a statue. Hermione glanced over her shoulder, where Helen had been, and shook her head. She set her shoulders and continued on. Helen waited a moment, and then stole out from her hiding place and continued, as well. She couldn't explain it, but something told her that Hermione shouldn't see her. She would try to remain out of sight._

_They continued their cat and mouse game all the way to the open door of the classroom; Hermione would occasionally look back over her shoulder, as if sensing or checking for someone, and each time Helen would skitter under some form of cover. She was quick and graceful—the training had made her able to be silent._

_Helen watched as Hermione stood in the doorway of the classroom for a few moments. She wasn't moving—it seemed liked Hermione was watching something. Helen assumed it was her father, and she didn't understand why Hermione was just standing there._

_She then heard her father's voice, but it was too quiet to make out what he had said. Hermione checked over her shoulder again, and then walked into the classroom, shutting the door behind her. Helen crept up to the doorjamb and put her ear near the keyhole. She wanted to listen to what was going on._

"_Yes?" It was her father's voice, and she could sense the impatience in it._

"_Harry…" a feminine voice started. That was Hermione. There was a pause. "Look, if Ron knew I was here, he'd go absolutely spare."_

"_So then why _did_ you decide to grace me with your presence then?" Helen could hear the sarcasm dripping in his voice._

"_I guess…I guess in the end you start thinking about the beginning." Helen thought that was a weird thing to say. What could that mean? Hermione continued; her voice was much softer. "Do you remember what I was like when I met you and Ron?"_

_When her father spoke, it seemed like he was trying to imitate someone. "'We could have all been killed—or worse, expelled.'"_

_Hermione responded with what sounded like humor in her voice. "I will have you know that I was only _twelve_ when I said that." Another silence followed._

"_Why are you really here, Hermione?"_

_Helen heard a sniff…and then another. Hermione then spoke. "Ron didn't even want to tell you, Harry. He insisted that you wouldn't care, and that it was better if we didn't."_

"_Tell me what?" Her father sounded confused._

_There was a rustling of what sounded like clothes, or maybe paper, and then Helen heard footsteps. She was about to retreat, but realized that they were moving away from the door. She wished she could see what was going on. Just then, though, she heard the footsteps again, and they seemed to be coming toward her. She turned to hide again, but her father's loud, demanding voice stopped her._

"_What is this?" There was the sound of a chair scraping against stone. Her father's voice came again, softer. "What is this?"_

_Helen heard a sobbing noise, and then running footsteps, again away from the door. Someone was crying—it sounded feminine. "Harry…" Hermione was crying._

_There was a long pause after that, and Helen was growing impatient. She really wanted to see what was going on. Just as she was about to crack the door to look in, Hermione's voice came again._

"_I'm sorry…" Helen heard, but she also heard footsteps quickly approaching the door. She looked around wildly for a second, and saw a statue directly across from the classroom. She hid herself behind it just as the door opened, revealing Hermione and her tear-streaked face._

"_Hermione?" came her father's voice from inside the classroom._

_Hermione didn't respond immediately, and didn't turn back to the classroom. Her face contorted for a moment, as if something horribly painful was happening to her, but then it slowly cleared. She spoke to her father, even though she was facing her. "Goodbye, Harry."_

_Helen watched as Hermione strode purposefully from the still open door, at first…but as she got further and further down the hallway, her step faltered a few times. She even turned around once, looking like she was going to come sprinting back, but she didn't. Hermione soon disappeared down the stairs._

_Helen was having a hard time understanding what had just happened, but she could tell that it was something monumental. There was an undercurrent to the conversation that she had just listened to that made it seem…no, feel…urgent. It was almost like something was waiting to happen. She stole quietly across the hallway to the door and peeked around the corner of the frame. She watched Harry slowly sit down, picking his wand off his desk as he did so._

_He just sat there for a few moments, but then his eyes searched his desk for something. He reached for whatever it was—a white envelope, she saw—and pulled it back to him. He stared at the front of it for a few seconds, and then pulled out the few pages of parchment inside. He leaned back in his chair and started to read._

_Helen watched his face as he read the letter, and she was struck at how many emotions she could see passing over it. Confusion…anger…humor…loss…and finally a bone-breaking sadness._

_He looked up blankly after he'd reached the bottom of the second page, and stared at nothing for a few minutes. Helen had almost decided to go in, but he then set the letter down on his desk and leaned back once again, rolling his wand between his fingers. Harry seemed to snort…or something, and Helen watched as his eyes moved over his classroom._

_His face became more and more crestfallen, and suddenly he gripped his wand tightly. She watched as a single dropped from one of his eyes. He slowly brought his eyes down and stared at the tip of his wand. She saw…something…some kind of emotion…some sort of notion…that screamed at her that something wasn't right._

"_Daddy?" she asked, bursting into the classroom. Her father looked up, startled, and then burst into tears, dropping his wand._

----------

Helen roused herself from her musings and walked over to the false window of the Room. It looked out on a quiet sunset over the sea. She had thought about that moment many times during the past ten years, but she'd never really confronted herself about what it could have meant. She thought he might have been…no, no she couldn't think like that. Harry would never do something like that. He had so much to live for.

That was part of the reason that she was so cross with Hermione, because in the back of her mind she'd always considered the possibility that he'd been about to do something rash. She associated it with Hermione's presence there that day, and had harbored resentment for the person she perceived as causing it. She rested her forehead against the glass as she thought about it once again.

Would he do something like that? From her perspective at that time, she had been able to sense something off, and she was only seven. Something in the way he had been holding his wand…or maybe it was the look in his eyes…made her interrupt it. Now, though, she could look back on it and honestly think that he had been planning on doing _something_. What that was, though…remained fairly ambiguous to her.

She decided that if she really wanted to know the truth of what he had been doing, she would have to confront him with her questions. Tonight, though, she wanted to enjoy whatever parties might have been planned. It was, after all, her last night as a student at Hogwarts. She would see him the next day, so she could ask him then. She left the Room of Requirement and turned in the direction of Ravenclaw common room.

----------

As Hermione came closer and closer to the Gryffindor portrait hole, she realized that she was faced with a dilemma. As she remembered it, the entrance to Harry's room was through the common room, but she did not want to have to go through what was surely a party. She didn't want to be questioned or gawked at; she just wanted to catch Harry and have a talk with him. She looked from side to side…and noticed something peculiar.

The entrance to his room had been a portrait of a man who had looked strangely like Dumbledore, and it appeared that that very same portrait was now in the corridor. It was about ten meters down from the Gryffindor portrait. The more Hermione thought about it, the more she thought it was probably his entrance. It would make sense the he'd had the connection moved, so he wouldn't have to go through the students' room. Although…if he was taking over for McGonagall as Deputy Headmaster, he would probably be the new Gryffindor Head of House as well—he might end up having it moved back.

She pursed her lips at her procrastinating and visibly squared her shoulders. She approached the portrait and raised her hand, ready to knock, but noticed that the portrait was slightly ajar. She narrowed her eyes. That didn't usually happen…

Cautiously, almost timidly, she pressed her palm against it. It swung inward, revealing to her the somewhat familiar suite. The living area was empty, she could see, and she stepped through the hole to look around. Helen's old room looked like it was empty, from what she could see through the open door, and there was no light coming from either the kitchen or the bathroom. That left his bedroom…and she looked over at the closed door. She saw light coming from under it, but as her eyes trailed up, she saw light coming from the side as well. That door was slightly ajar, too. The sun had just set, and it was rather gloomy and creepy in the half-dark living area, so she strode quickly over to his door.

She was just about to knock, but hesitated. What did she want to say to him? What was it that she so desperately wanted him to understand? If she didn't know…then how would she ever be able to tell him? Finally, after gathering up what little shreds of courage she had left, she knocked. The force of her knock opened the door part of the way, though, and her view into the room was of Harry staring intently back at her.

He was sitting on the opposite side of the bed, and he had craned his neck to see who was at the door. Hermione watched as his face clouded for a moment, and then he scowled at her. She winced inwardly—that made two Potters who seemed to hate her now. She slipped through the doorway and closed it behind her. She leaned back against the wood.

Harry continued to glare at her for a few more moments, before he seemed to deflate and he turn away. He rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. It made for a pretty melancholy picture, in Hermione's opinion.

"What do you want, Hermione?" he asked, in a very resigned voice.

Hermione stared at the back of his head for a little while, still trying to figure out what she wanted to say.

"Is there a reason why you are?" he asked, a little more irritably this time. "You don't start teaching until next year. You don't have to be here until the middle of August."

Hermione bit her lip. Harry clearly wanted her to leave…but…she wouldn't…not until she'd said her piece. This moment had been coming for far too long to screw up.

"I know that, Harry," was all she finally said, and she winced at her own tone. She hadn't planned on it sounding arrogant, but she knew it had.

"Wonderful," he said, sarcastically. He raised his head to stare at the wall in front of him. "Just wonderful."

"Harry—"

"Leave, Hermione," he suddenly cut her off. "Just leave."

Hermione was taken aback. That was not what she had been expecting. "What are you—"

"Look, whatever you have to say, I don't want to hear it, alright?" His voice was slowly getting louder and louder, but he still hadn't moved from the bed.

"No…Harry, listen to me—"

He stood and whirled to face her, and for a moment she felt déjà vu. She was strongly reminded of the look on his face after she had slapped him. She didn't know how she remembered the details of something that had happened so long before, but it was there and it was strong.

"No, _Hermione_," he ground out, "you listen to me." He was slowly advancing upon her. "I don't _care_ about what you have to say. Ok? How does that make you feel? I _don't care_." Harry was now very close to her. For a moment, the muscles in his forearms distracted her, but she mentally slapped herself. That was _not_ what she was supposed to be thinking about at the moment.

Hermione gave a helpless shrug, almost more to herself than to Harry. "I…Harry…what do you want me to say?"

"I WANT YOU TO LEAVE!" he bellowed, red in the face. His green eyes flashed for a moment, and then he whirled again and walked away from her. As he passed, he grabbed a book off the bed and hurled it against the wall. He came to rest near his bookshelf, and stood there, panting. A thick silence descended on the room.

Hermione was almost afraid to speak, but she hadn't been placed in Gryffindor for nothing. "I'm sorry…"

"YOU'RE SORRY?" he yelled. His eyes were boring into hers, and for a moment she felt insecure, and almost checked her Occlumency shields. She stopped, though. Harry wouldn't do that to her…would he? "YOU'RE SORRY?" he yelled again. "Well, that's just bloody fucking brilliant! Hermione Jane Granger is sorry!" He yelled the last part in mirthless humor, throwing up his hands.

It was an unconscious decision, but Hermione decided to fight fire with fire. "Now, wait just a goddamn minute, Harry Potter! Who are you to explode on me?"

Harry gave her an incredulous look. His eyes actually went wide in surprise. He then quickly strode back over to her, getting right in her face. He poked her breastbone as he spoke, accentuating his words.

"Who am I? You want to know who I am?" She had never seen so intense a look in his eyes before. There was anger…but there was something else, too. "I'm Harry James Potter, savior to the modern Wizarding World, father to the smartest witch in over a thousand years, Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the most powerful wizard in the world." His lip curled in a sneer. "Who am I, you ask? I told who I _am_, but now I will tell you what I'm _not_.

"I'm _not_ someone who wants or needs pity. I'm _not_ someone who dwells on the past anymore." He paused. His eyes seemed to move over her entire body for a moment, which Hermione thought was odd for the impassioned speech he was giving. "And I'm _not_ your friend any longer, Hermione."

She recoiled as if struck, and she seriously contemplated slapping him across the face. She didn't, though, because she remembered what had happened the last time she did that.

"So don't…don't come in here with your _apologies_ and your _sorries_…they just aren't going to cut it." He backed away a step, retreating from her personal space, but he was still staring at her.

"It's very ironic, Harry, that you don't dwell on the past anymore. Seems to me," she said, her eyes flashing back in retaliation, "that _that_ is _exactly_ what you are doing." She noticed with some satisfaction that the angry light in his eyes faltered for a moment.

"You left, Hermione, ten years ago. _TEN YEARS AGO!_ What do you expect me to do? To say? Wrap you in a huge hug and tearfully say how wonderful it is to have you back?" It was rhetorical question, but Hermione almost opened her mouth and said yes. Partly because she wanted to spite him, but partly because that _would_ have been nice…

"I can't do that. I won't." He sighed, and stared at the ceiling for a moment before returning his eyes to hers. "Do you realize that it's been a _decade_ since we last talked? That's a long time, any way you look at it. There have been stretches of six months or more where I haven't thought of you, or Ron." Hermione winced when he mentioned Ron, but Harry didn't seem to notice. That was _not_ a discussion she was looking forward to having with him.

"It is a long time, Harry. I'm here now, though."

He lifted his hand as if to ask _And your point is?_ "So?" he asked.

"So…that's it. I'm here now. That's what it means."

He gave a frustrated growl. "Wonderful," he said again, and she was reminded of how their conversation had started. "But not for long. I want you to leave, or I'm going to throw you out."

Hermione couldn't help it. She laughed. She laughed hard. She couldn't get the image of Harry Potter picking her up and chucking her into the hallway out of her head. It was just too funny to not laugh at. How could she take that seriously?

He raised an eyebrow at her laughing, but there was no amusement on his face. Her merriment slowly subsided.

"Something funny?" His voice was flat. She pursed her lips, worrying a little. _Could_ he actually do something like that? She realized that she didn't know this Harry Potter. That image she had been laughing at was of Harry at seventeen, not this striking 28-year-old. She didn't know how much his personality or his temperament had changed in the past ten years. Maybe he would actually throw her out.

"Err…" was all she managed to say.

"That's what I thought," he said. He took a single step forward, and was once again in her space. She was just waiting for him to reach out and pick her up.

"Didn't I tell you something?" he asked.

She looked into his eyes, and she only saw sincerity there. He wasn't joking. He really did want her to leave.

"Harry…" she sighed. "Fine," she said. She turned and grasped the handle of the door. She could feel Harry's close presence behind her, and she sensed his eyes on her back. She fought the urge to turn around and see where he was looking.

"But," she said as she turned the knob, "remember this: I really am sorry." Hermione opened the door and left. She didn't know what to do, or what to say. Harry seemed like a completely different person. He really had moved on.

Harry, meanwhile, stood staring at the paneling on his door. He was thinking about what had just transpired. He didn't want to see or talk to Hermione, but he couldn't help but feel like he'd made an ass of himself. He older now…more mature, or so he liked to think, but it seemed to him that history was just repeating itself. He was letting Hermione just walk out of his door again.

He snarled at his stupidity, and crashed his fist through the door. There was a resounding splintering noise, and when he pulled his bloodied knuckles back, he was looking through a small hole into the living area. He waved his hand over the cuts, healing them, and shook his head. He wrenched open the door and ran from his suite, sliding to a stop in the middle of the hall, trying to determine where Hermione had gone.

When he didn't see her, he closed his eyes and reached out with his magic. He searched around, trying to find her…there…there she was. He knew that magical signature anywhere. It had to be Hermione. She was exiting the castle. With a deep breath, and a resolve not to be so stupid this time around, he Disapparated from the hallway.

He reappeared just in front of Hermione, and she screeched and jumped into the air. When she had settled her breathing, she glared at him, partially astounded that he was there. He could understand that, as he had just unequivocally told her to leave.

Hermione was bewildered. She had not been expecting Harry to come after her. The old Harry…the stubborn one…would have just let her leave. Maybe all the changes weren't that bad…

"Can I help you?" she asked. She didn't know what to say.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Alright, I think you and I both have had enough of the bullshit." He seemed to consider his words. "Why did you come back, Hermione?"

Well, he certainly started off with the tough questions. "I don't know if I can answer that yet, Harry."

He glared at her for a moment. "'Ron and I aren't expecting to return to England…I wish you the best of luck in all things…'" he quoted.

She looked at him with a question in her eyes. "What…?"

"The letter, Hermione. _Your_ letter."

Hermione's eyes widened. She couldn't help it. How did Harry remember exactly what she had written after so many years? "But…that was ten years ago, Harry. How can you quote it?"

A slight tinge came to Harry's cheeks, and he looked sheepish for a moment. Hermione thought it was a very endearing look on him, and that it contrasted nicely with his stubble.

"Err…well…" he trailed off.

She put her hands on her hips. "How many times did you read the letter, Harry?" Then, though, she thought of a better question. "_When_ was the last time you read it?" she asked softly.

Harry deflated and walked around her, sitting on the bottom step of the entrance to the castle. He leaned back and placed his elbows on a higher step, staring up at the night sky. Hermione watched him for a moment, wondering where that engaging look that had just been on his face had gone, and moved to sit next to him. She leaned back as well, and the two of them just sat there for a few moments.

"Harry?" she finally asked. She looked over at him, and saw that he had closed his eyes.

"I don't know…a lot. Not that long ago, either." Hermione wanted to pull him into her arms; she wanted to embrace like she had so many times in her youth, but somehow it didn't feel appropriate anymore. They weren't the same people they used to be. They hadn't been the last time they'd seen each other. So, she resorted to resting a hand on his knee. He didn't move and didn't open his eyes.

"Why?" She _needed_ to know the answer to that question.

"Like I said…I don't know. It's just…I did, ok?" His jaw clenched. "You, you and Ron, you two were the only people that really knew me for who I was, before the end of the war."

"Harry, you know that's not true. What about Albus?"

Harry shook his head and finally opened his eyes. He stared into hers. "Albus, Hermione? No…not before the end of war. I think we both misunderstood each other. It wasn't until after…well, after everything went to hell that we really started to know who the other was."

Hermione suddenly felt guilty. "You know…I know this a bit late, and probably won't mean anything to you, but I really am sorry for what happened to Ginny. We never got a chance to talk at the funeral…" She faded away when she saw the look on Harry's face change to one of bitterness. He looked away from her.

"I can't believe how you and Ron acted."

Hermione had a sour taste in her mouth. The conversation was quickly heading in a direction she didn't want it to go.

"I mean," Harry continued, "she was his _sister_. You'd think he would have been there for her a little more. And," he cut off as his fist clenched. "And _you_. _You_ were supposedly her best friend."

"YOU DON'T THINK I REGRET THAT EVERY DAY THAT GOES BY?" Hermione yelled. She was furious…not with Harry, not completely. She was furious with herself, with the way things had turned out, and with the way they had all let things go so long. Harry seemed to be unperturbed by her outburst, and just calmly turned his head to look at her. She felt self-conscious under his gaze for some reason; it was almost as if he was scrutinizing her for something that she couldn't give.

"You know what they say about regret, don't you, Hermione?" His voice was calm, cool, and collected.

Hermione shrugged helplessly. She had no idea what he was talking about.

"Regret is the mind's attempt to justify actions that are unjustifiable."

She took a minute to absorb his words. "So, what are you implying, Harry? I'm never to be forgiven, never to be excused?"

Harry shrugged, and turned to gaze out at the dark grounds. "That's not for me to decide, Hermione. Ultimately…that's between you and Ginny."

Harry suddenly turned back to her. "Speaking of the Weasley's, where is Ron?"

Hermione's heart thumped loudly in her chest a few times. He had finally asked the question she had been avoiding from the start, and she knew there was probably no way around it. She didn't want to tell him, though, because he would undoubtedly blame himself…

"Hermione?" Harry queried. When she looked at him, a tiny smile cracked his lips. "Thought I lost you there for a moment." His look suddenly sobered, and he gave her that same penetrating gaze that had made her feel so inadequate. "What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing, Harry…"

"Then where is Ron?" he asked again.

Hermione was fighting with herself. She knew that she would probably make things worse if she didn't tell him, but she didn't want to. She knew how much it would hurt both of them.

Suddenly, Harry narrowed his eyes at her. "Hermione…_Granger_. Granger?" He raised an eyebrow. "Not Weasley?"

Hermione closed her eyes and forced herself not to respond.

"Hello, Hermione?"

"Look, Harry—"

"No…what's the big deal? Where is he?"

She started to get up, but Harry laid a hand on her arm. "Where is he?"

"RON'S DEAD, HARRY!" There, she had said it. She sunk back down onto the steps as she felt Harry's hand slip off her arm. She suddenly felt very tired—very drained. She just wanted to go to bed. It was hard revisiting the past. She glanced over at Harry and noticed that he was staring vacantly ahead.

"I didn't want to tell you—not like this, at least," she told him.

His eyes clear a little. "What? But…but how?" he asked. His voice, strangely, had very little emotion in it.

And there was the crux of it. If Hermione told Harry that answer, she was sure she'd watch as he dove into another endless pit of self-loathing. Harry had a tendency to do that; to blame himself for everyone else's problems, and it was detrimental. It wasn't good for him or the people around who cared for him.

Shrugging off that last sentiment, she decided it would be best to tackle this head-on. "Well…you remember what was wrong with Ginny? Her heart?"

"Of course I remember…Merlin, what the hell kind of question is that?" he snapped at her.

Hermione grunted in frustration. "Don't take my head off…I was just wondering if you remembered what that Healer had said? You know, how the condition was hereditary?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah…so what?"

"And do you remember what he said about it?"

"Err…only females could suffer from it. Males could carry it, though."

Hermione almost congratulated him for his good memory. "Yes, indeed, and as the Healer pointed out then, the male Weasleys most likely did."

He looked at her. "Where are you going with all of this Hermione? I fail to see how this is relevant…if Ron was a carrier…that wouldn't have—no, _couldn't_ have—killed him." The last two words came out slightly higher than the rest, and Hermione was really hoping that he didn't break down. She couldn't deal with that at the moment.

"Well, not exactly," she said.

"Oh?" he questioned.

"Carriers of hereditary afflictions, even though it is very rare, do sometimes suffer from them."

"How, though? That doesn't make any sense."

"It requires some extreme stimulus to begin with…such as a death…stress…things like that."

Harry's face clouded, and Hermione could already see the all-too-familiar wheels of guilt beginning to turn. She clenched her jaw and resolved to nip it in the bud. She moved from her position and knelt in front of Harry. She placed her hands on his knees, and he seemed somewhat startled by the gesture.

"Harry, listen to me." She lifted her hands and took his face in them. She forced him to look her in the eye. Staring into the emerald depths, she could see something that confused her. There was some emotion that she couldn't place, some tender feeling that was completely out of place, but it was gone as fast as it had been there.

"Ron's death…it wasn't your fault. It was no one's really—no one's but his own." Harry started to pull back from her hands, but she held his head firm. Annoyance flared up in his eyes momentarily.

"No…listen to me, damn it! Listen to what I'm saying. _No one_ is to blame except perhaps Ron himself. Not you, and not me. Ron…well let's just say that Ron became pretty self-destructive."

"What do you mean?" he asked. He had stopped resisting her soft but firm grip on his face.

"He couldn't get past the guilt of abandoning Ginny. I hate to say it like that, but that's essentially what he and I did. We abandoned her, and we abandoned you."

"You seem pretty calm about all of this, you know. How long ago did this happen?" he asked her. Slowly, very slowly, his head seemed to be sinking into her grip.

"Six years, Harry. He died on April 4th, 2003."

"How…how could I not have known about this? I've talked to…well, all of the Weasley's since then. I saw Bill and Charlie a few years ago, when they both visited to see Albus about something, and I saw Fred and George a few weeks ago." His face became pained, and it sunk a little deeper. "Why wouldn't they tell me that?"

Hermione sighed. "They probably didn't know, Harry."

"What? Why not?"

"They didn't really want anything to do with him after the funeral. All four of them basically said that he was no longer a part of their family because of what he had done to Ginny."

Harry brought his arms up between Hermione's and knocked her hands away from his face. Hermione didn't move from her kneeling position, though.

"I never knew that. I'm actually rather surprised they would do something like that. They had just lost Ginny…"

"And they saw what his misplaced hostility toward you did to their family, and they didn't like it," she answered.

"Misplaced? _Misplaced_, Hermione?" He gave her an unbelieving look. "I seem to remember you doing and saying nothing in my defense the night of my wedding. Why wasn't it _misplaced_ then?"

Hermione's head was starting to pound. "It's complicated, Harry."

Harry snorted at her. "You have to be kidding me. 'It's complicated'," he mimicked her voice. "Do you regret that too, Hermione? Do you regret that complication?"

She was about to say yes, but then his words about regret from before came back to her. Some chord deep in her struck a low, painful note as she caught his meaning.

"What are you saying, Harry? You'll never forgive me? You'll never get past it?" She hated the slight tremor she could hear in her voice. It made her feel weak, but for some reason she felt she had to measure up to Harry. He always had made her feel like that.

He eyed her for a moment, and then stood up. She stood as well. "Like you said, Hermione, it's complicated."

Their eyes locked for a second, and Hermione saw that thing, that same feeling that she had seen before, that she couldn't distinguish. He looked away.

"I'll be seeing you," he said, and promptly Disapparated.

She stared at the empty space for a moment, before slowly turning and walking away from the castle, toward her rented apartment in Hogsmeade.

----------

Graduation went without any problems the following day. Harry was trying to comprehend all that Hermione had told him the night before, but most of his attention was on the smiling face of Helen as she crossed the stage in Hogwarts' spectacular commencement robes. It filled him with a sense of love and fulfillment that he hadn't felt before, and he was proud to say that he had had some part in raising her.

Harry retired to his quarters after the ceremony. He didn't really want to participate in the final party. He picked up another one of his many textbooks, and started to peruse it. After a few minutes, though, there came a knock at the portrait, and he set the book down. He waved his hand, and the portrait swung aside.

"Come in," he called, trying to see who it was. The hallway was dark, and he couldn't see.

"Are you sure you're not busy?" came the familiar voice of Helen.

"Yes, Helen, of course. You don't have to knock on my portrait; you know the password."

"I know…but I wasn't sure if something was wrong. You left the ceremony pretty quickly," she said as she stepped through the hole. She was dressed in jeans and a dark blouse.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that," Harry said. He moved over, giving her space to sit. "I'm just not really in the festive mood tonight, honey."

As she sat down, he got his first close look at her since she'd come in. Her face was beautiful, as always, but there seemed to be something wrong with her. She was almost grimacing.

"What about you? Why aren't you out partying with your classmates?"

"I dunno…I guess I'm not really in the festive mood, either."

Harry put his arm around her shoulder. She curled her legs up onto the couch and leaned into him. This was what he missed the most…the closeness they shared with each other. They took comfort in each other's presence, and they hadn't done that kind of thing nearly enough lately.

Harry felt Helen take a deep breath and settle deeper into his side. "What's up, Helen? What's the matter?" Call it father's intuition; regardless, he knew something big was bothering her.

"I don't know, Dad…I just…how do you feel about your friend being back?"

"Hermione?"

She shifted against him. "Who else?"

"Eh…I'm not sure yet. I have a lot to think about. This is all rather sudden, you know?" Harry rested his cheek against the top of her head; her hair felt like silk against his skin.

"I have to ask you something," Helen suddenly blurted out. She slipped an arm around Harry's waist, curling it tightly, almost possessively.

"Ok…" Harry said. Her tone sounded odd.

"That day—ten years ago—what happened?"

"What do you mean, Helen?" Harry asked. He wasn't really sure what she was getting at.

"When Hermione came here…you and her talked, and then something happened. I don't know…I think I know…but I want you to tell me what happened."

For some reason, Harry's heartbeat had skyrocketed. He kept getting flashes of that day, brief snippets that tore at his heart. It had been a horrible day, and he remembered thinking that—

----------

_It was just as Hermione had said: in the end you started thinking about the beginning. Things had seemed so simple. Their friendship had been built on the foundation of trust, support, and love. Ginny had come into the picture much later, but she still had been very important to the three of them, each in their own way. She had been the first to go, too, but not from any fault of her own. Harry knew it was his fault that she had died, because he'd chosen to wait so long and that he'd avoided the topic. He knew he could have saved her._

_And now…what? Ron and Hermione, the only two true friends he'd ever had, were gone. They were gone, with barely a word from Hermione and none from Ron. The three people that had gotten him this far in life, the three people he owed his very existence to—Ron, Hermione, and Ginny—were gone._

_He stopped twirling his wand, gripping it tightly. A solitary tear dropped from his eyes, but he was too drained of everything to really cry. He looked down, staring straight at the tip of his wand. He felt so…empty. Empty and alone._

_It would be so easy. All that he had to do was say the words. Two words…six syllables…and it would all be over. All the pain, all the loss, all the guilt—it would all be washed away in a quick flash of green light. He knew that it was easy, and he knew that he could do it. What did he have to live for anymore? There was nothing left. Ginny; dead. Ron, Hermione; gone._

_He had done his duty to the Wizarding world, and now they didn't need him anymore. He had fulfilled the cursed prophecy, and had saved everyone, so no one would miss him. He gripped the wand tighter, watching as his knuckles went white. All that he had to do was say the two words, and it would all be over. He would be on his next great adventure._

_He took a breath, and the air that would be used to utter the words was in his lungs, and he was going to do it. All that he had to do was say it…_

"_Daddy?" Helen yelled as she ran into the classroom. Harry looked up, startled, and then lost control. Tears started pouring from his eyes, and he dropped his wand to the floor. He couldn't believe how close he had come to doing it, and how he had forgotten about the one person that hadn't forgotten about him._

_Helen came sprinting up the middle row, and Harry came around his desk. He met her in front of it, and kneeled down as she crashed into him. She held onto him like a lifeline, and he reciprocated the action. He laid his cheek on the top of her head and let the tears come. They dropped onto her smooth brown hair, glistening in the light coming through the high windows._

_Harry held onto her tightly; she was the only thing he had left. He had almost forgotten that, too. No…he _had_ forgotten that. He had just been about to do the unthinkable. Where would Helen have been then? He hated himself for almost doing that to her._

"_I'm sorry…" he sobbed into her hair. "I'm so sorry…" He felt her arms tighten around him and the tears came faster. She had so much love in her, and he had almost thrown that away. He had been so wrapped up, thinking that he had nothing left to live for, that he had forgotten about what he did have._

_Helen leaned back and looked up at his shiny face. He watched her eyes follow a tear down his cheek, and then look to the floor where it dropped. She looked back up and brought her hands to his face, brushing away the wetness. The gesture was so tender…so gentle…so loving…that he couldn't help himself. He pulled her back into a tight embrace and left a few light kisses in her hair._

"_I love you so much, Helen…" he whispered, voice shaking slightly from the crying._

"_I know," she whispered back. "I love you, too, Daddy." She leaned into him some more and rested her head against his chest. Harry slowly stood up, tucking her into his arms. She reached up and brushed the new wetness from his face._

_Harry smiled and laughed at the endearing motion, and kissed her on the forehead. When he leaned back, he saw something in her eyes that took his breath away: unconditional love and support. Harry really did have a family._

----------

"Dad?" someone was calling him. "Dad!" someone called more forcefully. Harry snapped back from his reverie, and realized that he was still sitting on the couch with Helen. She was looking intently at him.

"Where'd you go?" she asked. There was concern in her eyes.

"Huh? Oh…sorry…just thinking about the past." He hesitated. "I was remembering that day."

"So…what really happened?" she asked.

He couldn't avoid it anymore. She had most likely figured it out, anyways. "Well…she came and said her and Ron were leaving. They weren't going to be coming back. And when she left…I don't know…I guess everything just crashed down on me. I was so caught up in the guilt and the pain that I forgot about everything that I _did_ have."

Harry looked Helen directly in the eyes. "Like you. Like you _and_ your love." She smiled at him. "And, well, I think I was going to do it—you know, end it. I think I was right on the edge of it when you came flying through my door."

Surprisingly, Helen didn't seem to be too shocked over the revelation. "I thought so," was all she said, and she settled back into the comfortable nook next to Harry.

She spoke again after a minute. "So if I hadn't come in that at the moment, would you have?"

Harry sighed. "I don't know if I can answer that. Looking back, my memories and my opinions are skewed by all that's happened since." He paused, and rested his chin on the top of her head. "I'd like to be able to say no I wouldn't have, but I don't think I can. I just don't know."

"Do you have any regrets, Dad?" Helen asked.

Harry was struck by the odd parallel in this conversation with the one that he had had with Hermione. That same quote came to his mind again: _regret is the mind's attempt to justify actions that are unjustifiable._

Was that what he felt sometimes? Was he trying to justify things that had happened or that he had done that were inexcusable? Was what had happened the result of actions that were unjustifiable? Knowing what he knew now, especially with the news about Ron's fate, he thought that might be it. He did have regrets, because he knew, deep down, that everything could have been prevented. He then realized that having regrets was a vicious cycle, because they did nothing to improve the situation.

"Yes. I hate it, though."

"What do you hate, Dad?" Helen's voice sounded sleepy.

"Having regrets. I hate having them." He paused for a moment, listening to the slowing rhythm of her breathing. "Honey, are you sure you want to fall asleep?" he whispered. "You'll miss your party."

"Mm? Oh…that's alright…" she breathed, and snuggled closer to Harry. The only sound for the next few minutes was Helen's slow, measured breathing.

Harry felt peaceful—as peaceful as he'd felt in a long time. Sure, Hermione had come back and dropped a few bombs on him, but that didn't seem to matter at the moment with his daughter curled up next to him. He wandlessly levitated her, careful not to disturb her position, and moved her to her long-vacant bedroom. Just as he set her on the bed, another odd parallel came to him. It was amazing how things could be so circular…

----------

_Harry was getting ready to turn in when a loud, urgent knocking came at his portrait. It was unusual that someone would be there—Helen had just moved out of the suite earlier in the day. He had just finished watching her get sorted and eat her first real Hogwarts feast as a student._

_He walked over to the portrait and waved it aside, and was momentarily stunned to see a tearful Helen waiting there. She basically jumped into his arms and sobbed into his shoulder. Harry was very alarmed. Had something happened to her? Had someone _done_ something to her?_

"_What's the matter, babe? What's wrong?" he asked as he carried her over to the couch. Slowly, she calmed down, and she looked up into Harry's eyes. The lustrous brown pools were shining with unshed tears. She sniffled once and gave him a teary smile._

"_I'm sorry…I can't sleep, Daddy."_

_Harry let out a silent sigh of relief. If that was all that was wrong with her, then he could deal with it calmly._

"_Why not?"_

"_I just…I just can't." Ironically, though, her words were punctuated by a yawn, and Harry could clearly see her eyelids drooping._

"_Oh really?"_

"_Yeah…I think, I think I want to sleep in here tonight. I don't think I like the Ravenclaw dorms too much."_

_Harry smiled at her she leaned against him, slowly succumbing to the tiredness._

"_Alright, Helen, but just for tonight. You'll have to get used to them sometime." He received no response, though, as she had fallen asleep, and he gently lifted her in his arms. He carried her to her newly empty bedroom—except for the furniture, of course—and laid her down. He leaned down and placed a feathery-light kiss on her forehead._

----------

"Goodnight, Helen," he whispered to his sleeping daughter. She made a soft noise in her sleep and rolled away from him a bit. He smiled and exited her room, closing the door behind him. Her first night as a student at Hogwarts had played out similarly to her last.

Harry looked around for a moment, and then entered his own room. It had been a long two days, and he was looking forward to getting some well-deserved sleep.


	19. Summer Daze, Part I

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: Warning—there is an implied rape in this chapter. While not graphic, it may be considered offensive/disturbing to some. Please read with discretion.**

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Chapter 19: Summer Daze, Part I

Harry squinted in the sunlight, and wiped his wrist across his forehead. The Sicilian summer sun was beating down on him, and he wished that Helen would hurry up.

"Helen! Am I going to wait out here all day?" he called back into the villa. Harry rested against the railing of the veranda and skimmed his eyes over the view before him: pristine sandy beaches, a smattering of people enjoying the day, and the clear waters of the Mediterranean as far as the eye could see.

Harry turned around as he heard the glass door slide closed, and rolled his eyes at his daughter when he saw her. She noticed the action.

"What?" she asked, a little impudence showing in her voice.

"You're going to wear _that_?" he asked her. Helen looked down at herself, and then back to Harry, raising an eyebrow.

"What's wrong with this?"

Harry just shook his head exasperatedly for a moment, and then turned back around to look at the beach. Helen had come out of the villa in a bikini bottom, a sports bra, and a pair of battered trainers.

A slight breeze picked up at that moment, and Harry closed his eyes as the warm currents brushed over his bronzed cheeks. He spoke again.

"I don't really look forward to seeing all the blokes leering at you, that's all."

Harry heard a soft laugh behind him, and then felt Helen move up against the railing beside him. When he opened his eyes, he saw that she had leaned against it, placing her elbows on the top. Any other person would have been staring at the interesting position this put her chest in, but Harry was not any other person.

"Yeah, well, what about you?" she asked him.

"What about me?"

She turned to him and placed a hand on her hip. "Oh, come on…you complain about what I'm wearing, and then you dress like that!" Harry only had a pair of short shorts on, as well as his trainers.

Harry shrugged. "There a problem with this?"

Helen gave him a smile. "Only what you said: I'm don't really fancy seeing all the girls gaping at you."

He gave her a playful jab in the arm with his elbow. "Oh? That bother you?"

Helen made a face at Harry and shoved him away, laughing. "That's just wrong, Dad."

"What? It's hot out here! Do you expect me to wear sweats or something?"

Helen raised her eyebrow. "Exactly," she said, and laughed again as Harry's eyes went wide. He seemed to consider what he said for a moment, and then turned away mumbling.

"What was that?" Helen asked.

"Oh…nothing…just that it's annoying sometimes to have the smartest witch in the world as my daughter." He turned around and grinned at her, and then motioned with his hand toward the steps.

They both started to descend toward the sandy shore. Harry and Helen had been in Sicily for a week, and they were enjoying the relaxing, sunny, and warm time away from England and Scotland. They loved Hogwarts, but the climate, which was chilly for nine or ten months out of the year, got old after awhile. They spent their six weeks away during the summer on the shores of the Mediterranean, and they felt refreshed when they arrived back in Scotland.

As Harry and Helen started to jog, they were quite the sight. Many eyes turned their way, but they ignored them, as they usually did. Both were not wont for good looks, and the time in the sun had tanned them considerably. They moved toward the harder sand nearer to the breaking waves, and picked up the pace a bit. They ran stride for stride, as they were nearly the same height, and swung their arms in unison.

Helen had her hair tied back in a loose ponytail, and Harry's shaggy mane was flopping around a bit with each step he took. They were both smiling, especially when the spray from the waves would reach their skin. The surprising coolness felt good. After about a half hour, they turned around, and started back toward the villa. Helen looked over at Harry, grinning at him, and then increased her pace by quite a bit. Harry was momentarily surprised, but rushed to catch up.

Slowly, their pace increased even more, and they were soon running around a 5-minute-mile pace. Stride for stride…footfall for footfall…people couldn't help but stare as they flew past. The villa was soon clearly in sight, and Helen made a last desperate increase in speed. Harry was ready for it, though, and kept with her. At an all-out sprint, they both crossed in front of their villa at the same time. Harry slowed to a stop, put his hands behind his head, and turned around, panting for breath. Helen had her hands on her knees, and her chest was heaving in much the same way. She looked up at him; he noticed a twinkle in her eyes.

"Do we…always…tie?" she panted.

Harry grunted something, because he was too focused on getting oxygen to his starved body at the moment to form any words, which would have taken some away. She let out a breathy laugh at his noise and straightened up. Harry slowly brought his arms down from his head.

"Whew," Helen said. "I think I'm ready for a swim." Before Harry could say anything, she had kicked off her trainers, turned, and ran into the Sea. Harry watched her for a minute as she enjoyed the cooling waters of the Mediterranean, and he couldn't help but think about how far they both had come. When he had met her, she was in the worst possible situation imaginable, as he had been at one point in their history together. Now…now they were basking in the warmth of a Sicilian summer.

He was distracted by sweat trickling down his bare back, and decided to join his daughter, so he took off his own shoes. He ran into the clear waters, and couldn't stop the grin that spread over his features when the sensations of the water hit his parched skin. He waded over to Helen and splashed her in the back of the head. She whirled with an incredulous look on her face.

"What was that for?" she demanded. Harry splashed her again, and he had to fight himself from laughing at the look on her face. When she just stood there, he splashed her again. He didn't have time to react, however, when she dove and tackled him, pushing him underneath the surface of the water. He manipulated her grip on him, though, and pulled her under with him. They both came up sputtering seconds later.

"You…you…" Helen ground out, but Harry could tell she was trying not to smile.

"Yes?" he called, sweetly.

She reared back and slapped the surface of the water with her palm, and quite a large burst flew into Harry's face. He heard her laughing at he tried to clear his vision, and when he did, he saw her standing on the beach. He slowly made his way toward her.

"Always have to have the last word, eh Helen?" He exited the water and stood by her, letting the sun dry him off.

"The most powerful wizard in the world has to be humbled sometimes," she retorted, and slung an arm around his shoulder. They slowly walked their way up the beach, picking up their discarded trainers on the way.

"How many years have we been coming here now, Helen?" Harry suddenly asked her. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turning to look at her.

"Err…" she stammered. "Five years?" She cocked her head at him. "Why?"

"In all those five years, have you _ever_ let me win in anything?" he asked, and tore off up the stairs. She stood there for a moment, looking at the empty space, and then took off after him, taking the steps three at a time. It was to no avail though, because he was standing their tapping his foot when she got up to the veranda.

"Took you long enough," he commented.

She seemed to ignore him, but just as she was passing, she pushed him in the chest. Surprised, he could do nothing but let his momentum carry him backwards into the pool. He hit the water on his back with a resounding _slap_. Helen almost cringed, but he deserved it. Harry surfaced, and Helen could see that he was rubbing his back. He looked forlornly at his sopping wet trainers.

"Remind me to never piss you off," Harry said, and Helen smirked at him. Suddenly she noticed Harry's gaze turn crafty, and she was about to turn and run into the house. It was too late, though. Harry Apparated out of the pool, wrapped his arms around her, tandem Apparated back under water, and then Apparated into the bathroom in the villa. When Helen surfaced, she could already hear the water of the shower running.

She considered returning the gesture, but didn't fancy seeing her father naked, so she just Apparated into her room. She would deal with his…minor victory…later.

----------

Harry looked up as Helen came into the room, drying her still wet hair from the shower. She walked over to the Muggle television set they had and flipped it on. All fifty inches of plasma lit up.

"Do we really have to watch that thing?" Harry asked. He had never been a huge fan of television. He liked his movies, but TV just didn't do it for him.

Helen plopped down on the long, plush leather couch. "Yep," she said, and turned toward the set. Harry watched it for a few moments—it was something about American celebrities—and then looked back down at his book. He tried to focus on it, because it was actually pretty interesting as it was about the restructuring of the Defense curriculum, but the TV kept distracting him. Finally, he set the book down and looked up. With barely a wave of his hand, the TV shut off. Helen furrowed her brow for a moment, and then turned to Harry.

"Dad?" she asked. Harry stared at the blank TV screen for a moment, and then turned to her.

"Have you thought about what you're going to do next year at all?"

"Umm…I'm going to be the Potions Prof—"

"No, no—that's not what I meant. I meant…curriculum, textbooks, all that stuff."

"Oh…well, not really. I have a lot of time, though."

Harry conceded the fact by dipping his head, and then asked, "Have you thought about where your classroom is gonna be? Do you want it to be in the dungeons?"

"Definitely not in the dungeons," she responded immediately, but then paused to think about it. "I wouldn't mind having it somewhere around the Gryffindor or Ravenclaw common rooms…there are a lot of unused classrooms around there."

"Yeah, there are. In fact, there are two right by mine—one on either side."

"I don't think I want to be _that_ close to you," she said, with a sly smile on her face.

Harry regarded her for a moment before responding. "Something wrong with me?"

She hesitated, and then said, "Yeah, you're a big dork," and then stuck her tongue out at him.

He watched it slip back between her lips, and then raised his eyebrow at her. "Aren't you a little old to be still be doing that?" he asked.

"I don't know. Am I?"

Harry shrugged. "I think so; you _are_ going to be teaching next year. I'd like to see the look on Albus's face if he saw you doing that to one of your students," he said with his patented crooked grin.

"Albus? He wouldn't care, Dad," she laughed.

"Fine…then what about Minerva?" She made a face at that, but then her eyes lit up.

"That's a moot point now, since she's not teaching anymore. She won't be there to see it."

"You're right…she won't be teaching anymore…" Harry responded, and his face sobered slightly. He had just been reminded that Hermione was the new Transfiguration teacher.

"Dad?" Helen asked. She must have sensed some kind of shift in his mood, because there was some concern evident in her voice.

"Nothing, you just reminded me of Hermione."

"Oh," she said, and a silence settled over the villa for a few minutes. There was a sudden flare-up of light, as the sun dipped below the horizon; the only noise was the soft crash of the waves breaking on shore.

"Is that going to be weird?" Helen asked, her voice breaking the stillness.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Working with her—is that going to be weird?"

Harry sighed, and Helen couldn't help but feel the pain in the noise. Something was bothering her father deeply, and she didn't even know if he knew it.

"To be honest with you, Helen, I don't know," he said after another silence. "We might just end up avoiding each other."

Helen brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them; the increasing gloom was almost unsettling.

"Did you end up talking to her at all?" she questioned.

"Yeah," was all Harry said. He flicked his hand, and an overhead light near the entrance to the kitchen came on. It provided the sitting area with a modest glow.

"How did that go?" Helen asked. She knew that she was probably prying, but she couldn't help it. She wouldn't let Hermione get her father down again.

"It went…" Harry trailed off, and then shook his head. He turned to look at her. She saw that his emerald eyes seemed to glow strangely, backlit as they were.

"Why are you so interested?" Harry asked.

Helen rested her chin on one of her knees, and hugged herself tighter. "I just am," she said. When Harry didn't elaborate any further, she went on. "I witnessed what you went through the last time she was here, Dad." She turned her head to the side, laying her cheek on a knee. "I just don't want that to happen again."

Harry shifted on the couch, and moved to sit next to her. He snaked an arm around her shoulders and tightened, drawing her to him. She didn't lift her head.

"Helen, it wouldn't happen again. It couldn't happen," he said, and squeezed her shoulder to emphasize his words. She couldn't help the tears, though, and they were soon flowing from her eyes. Harry reached over and brushed some away.

"What is it?" he asked softly.

"I just…I just don't know what I'd do if…if I lost you," she sobbed quietly. Her body shook slightly with a tremor, and Harry leaned over and took her in both of his arms. She finally unwrapped herself from her around her knees and clung to him.

"I'm not going anywhere, Helen," he said, trying to soothe her. Helen couldn't help it—she liked to think of herself as a strong woman, but this had been building for a while. Her father was her rock, and if he ever left, whether by death or some other reason, she'd be sunk.

"I know…I know," she said. Her voice was trembling. "Accidents do happen though," she whispered.

"Helen, honey, don't even think like that. I'll always be here for you." Her face scrunched up as painful feelings shot through her, and she clung to him tighter. The sobs that were escaping…there was nothing that she could do to stop them.

"Sometimes I wonder wha-what would have ha-happened to me if you never showed up that ni-night." Harry just held her.

"Would the Death Eaters have come back? Would that ho-horrible stuff have happened again?" She rocked slightly against Harry, trying to force the images and feelings of that night from her mind.

"I don't know, but why are you even thinking about it?" Harry asked. "You know that it won't do you any good to dig up old memories like that." Helen willed the tears to stop coming, but it didn't work. She was reliving that night…

----------

_It was the silence that woke her. Helen had become accustomed to the soft noise of whatever the man at the front desk did at night, and it usually lulled her to sleep. She had never realized it, but now it seemed like that noise kept her asleep, because she had woken when it stopped. There was nothing but silence, but something made her skin crawl. There was some feeling that she couldn't comprehend, but she knew she didn't like it. She didn't feel safe._

_She lay huddled beneath her covers, listening intently for some noise. There…that might have been a door opening and closing…but then only silence again. No wait…was that whimpering? What was going on? The nape of her neck tingled, and she recognized it as the feeling she got when there was magic happening around her. When the matrons of the Orphanage did menial tasks with magic, that always happened…someone, or something, was doing magic in the Orphanage._

_Suddenly, there was a banging of a door and muffled shouts, but then an abrupt silence settled. She got that same feeling on her neck. They must have been doing some kind of magic to silence whatever was going on. Helen started to shiver beneath her covers, but she wasn't cold. She was nervous, because she didn't understand what was going on around her, and she was afraid because she didn't think she wanted to._

_The floorboard creaked outside her door, one with which she was very familiar, and then she heard the knob turn on the door. She was too petrified to do anything—something screamed at her that it wasn't a matron outside her door, but she couldn't move. The fear had paralyzed her; it had incapacitated her usual quick thinking._

_From under her covers she heard the door fly open and bang against the wall, and there were quick footsteps across the room toward her. She wanted to cry out in alarm, or perhaps only squeak in fright, but her voice was trapped in her throat. She gripped the blanket tighter around her, hoping that whoever it was would go away and leave them all alone, but it wasn't meant to be. She finally found her voice as the blanket was wrenched from her grip and she saw who it was. A noise escaped her lips as the black-robed figure threw the blanket into the corner and picked her up roughly. She wanted to fight him, she knew she should, but she couldn't. He was so much bigger and stronger than her._

_There was suddenly a draft in the room, and it took her a second to realize it, but she did start to struggle against his grip when it occurred to her that her clothes had been removed. It must have been magic…she didn't even realize that it had happened. She tried to wriggle from his grasp, but the man only tightened his vice-like grip, and it started to hurt her. She cried out against the pain._

_Then, though, there was a stronger, greater pain; it was a pressure unlike anything she'd ever felt. She closed her eyes against it, willing the intense tearing away, and just shut her mind off from what was happening to her. It was over in no more than a minute, but to her, it felt like eternity. Abruptly, the pressure abated, and she was dropped to the floor. She hit with a _thud_ that bruised her knees, and when she looked up, she was alone in the room._

_Helen started to feel shaky. She couldn't stand or push herself up from the floor, so she decided to crawl over to the corner. She didn't understand what had happened to her. She hurt all over, especially near her stomach, and she didn't like the way it felt. As she leaned back against the wall, she brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. The floor felt wet beneath her, but she was too scared and wobbly to move away from it. She stared unseeingly ahead, lost in trying to make sense of what just happened, when loud shouting came from outside. She flinched involuntarily, because she was still in shock, but she did not move. She could not._

_After a few more minutes, she was vaguely aware of someone coming into the room, but she didn't move or say anything. There was no fight left in her. There was a flash of color, and then she felt the cool touch of cotton fabric against her skin—someone had wrapped her in a blanket and was now picking her up. Her eyes refocused and she moved to whosever face it was; she lingered on the captivating emerald color of his eyes for a few moments. A strange shape on his forehead caught her eye, and she looked at it. It was then that she realized it was Harry 'Savior' Potter holding her in his hands._

"_Mr.…Mr. Potter?"_

_She noticed some surprise on his face. ""Yes, sweetie. What can I do to help you?"_

"_I-I'm not su-sure," Helen said, forcing back the emotion that caused the stutter. "Why did they do this to me?" He set her on her bed._

_She watched as his eyes began to shine, and he took a deep breath. His voice was still shaky, though. ""I don't know why. They just like to hurt people…" Helen couldn't help it. The tears she had long been refusing were forcing their way out of her eyes, and she noticed he trailed off when he saw them._

"_W-why would they want to hurt us? We ne-never did anything to them," she said, through her tears. They were not letting up; in fact, they only came stronger._

_She felt him run a hand lightly through her hair, and she leaned into his chest as she began to cry fully. She was finally starting to comprehend, a little bit, what had happened to her, and why her stomach hurt so much. She took some comfort in Harry's presence, though. She felt safe in his arms. She felt—_

----------

—wet? Helen's eyes snapped open as she realized that she was surrounded by water. It only took her part of second to realize that she was in the villa's pool.

"Helen?" someone was yelling at her, and she turned her head to see her father staring intently at her face. "Are you alright?" he asked. There was a panicky tone to his voice.

"Yeah…" she started. "Yeah," she said again, asserting the syllable a little more clearly. Harry's expression immediately relaxed.

"What, er, happened there?" he asked her.

Helen looked around again, and shook her head. Water flew from her hair. How had she gotten into the pool? "Well…something triggered a really intense flashback…" was all she said. She gave her father a curious look. "How did we get into the pool?"

Harry's lips twitched, but the smile didn't quite reach his face. "You went rigid in my arms for a second…and then you started screaming something. I don't know what it was…and you wouldn't snap out of it, so I Apparated us both into the pool." He paused, and a small smile did hit his lips. "Seemed to do the trick."

Helen moved to the side of the pool and sat on the edge. Harry joined her, and said, "So…are you alright now?"

"I don't know," she sighed, and tried to force her thoughts away from that night. It was never good to dwell on the past, any way one looked at it. Her father's own history proved that to be true. However, she supposed there was some deeply entrenched fear of losing her savior; in other words, Harry.

"I just don't want to lose you," she finally said.

"I know, Helen…but…what is this really about?" he asked her. She furrowed her brows and turned her head to look at his face.

"You know exactly what this is really about." She turned back to look at the waters of the pool; the ripples created from her legs, which were dangling into the water, caused the light from inside the villa to distort. "You were there that night," she added, softly.

"Look, Helen…" Harry said, and rested a hand on her thigh. She continued to watch the patterns of light dance across the surface of the pool. "I don't pretend to know what you went through—I can't even imagine it—but that was over ten years ago now. Does it still really bother you that much?" Even though Helen heard the honest compassion in his voice, she couldn't but think it was a little blunt.

"No…_it_ doesn't. Not exactly," she said after a few moments.

"Then what is it?" he asked.

Helen had to word what she wanted to say carefully. "When I saw Hermione come back…I just had flashes of losing you to her."

"Losing me…to…her?" She heard the confusion in his voice. "But you're always…you know, egging me on. Telling me how good it would be for me to find someone." He turned to look at her, but she still stared at the water. "Is that what this is about?"

Helen sighed. "No, Dad. Not like that. That's not what I meant. I would never be _jealous_ or anything like that. I mean…look at what you told me the other day. You almost _ended your life_. And why? Because Hermione, and your other friend, let you down. They abandoned you."

"Helen, I was a different person then. I was blinded by everything that I'd lost, that I couldn't see what I had." He squeezed her thigh. She smiled at what was left unspoken.

"So…what _did_ you and her end up talking about?"

"Ahh…back to this," Harry said. "To be honest with you, not much. I was at her throat for a little while, and then we kind of just reminisced. She also told me that Ron is dead."

"Oh," said Helen. "Sorry," she said, but she couldn't bring herself to feel much remorse, and she could tell that her voice sounded flat.

"That's alright. I'm long past feeling anything about it. The Ron I knew died a long time ago. He died with that little part of me that wanted to…to end it. He died when you ran through my door."

Helen leaned into Harry's shoulder. His words always had the effect of comforting her. They made her feel so…loved.

"So…you're going to be alright now?" Harry asked her.

"Yeah…sorry about that."

"Don't be," he said, and reached over to embrace her. She rested comfortably in his hug for a moment, and then pulled back. The light off the water reflected in his green eyes.

"Thanks Dad." She looked back at the pool. "For everything."

----------

Dumbledore turned around from his window as he heard the Gargoyle grind aside. It was odd that anyone would be coming to see him at this time of the year. All of the Professors were off on their respective vacations, and the Board members rarely visited during the summer.

He was none too surprised, however, when Hermione Granger walked through his door. He nodded toward a chair, which she took. She rested her head in the palm of her hand, which she had propped up by an elbow on the arm of the chair. Her wavy, slightly bushy brown locks fell over one half of her face.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" Dumbledore said. He wasn't surprised to see her, but he couldn't fathom the exact reason why she chose now to visit.

"I don't know what to do, Albus."

"What do you mean, my dear?" he asked her.

"Please…enough of the formalities. You know you can call me Hermione," she replied.

"Alright, Hermione." He paused, looking at her. She seemed very resigned. "What's on your mind?"

"I can't find Harry," was all she said. Dumbledore didn't say anything for a moment; he didn't move, either. He had mixed feelings about Hermione's return—he knew she would be a competent teacher but he wasn't sure how her and Harry's reunion would ultimately go. It wouldn't pay to have enemies as colleagues, and he didn't think it would lead to that, but their history was checkered. On the one hand, Harry and Hermione had been the best of friends. On the other hand, they had been the bitterest of once-friends. Hermione finally looked up after the silence stretched on.

"Albus?" she asked.

"What do you want to find him for?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "I think you know that, and no offense, but it really is none of your business." Dumbledore sighed and dropped his head momentarily. He slowly moved away from the window and sat in his chair. He looked back up at Hermione.

"On the contrary, Hermione. It _is_ my business."

She raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"And no offense to you, but I think we both remember what happened the last time you and Harry were together; or rather, when you weren't. But," he waved his hand, "that is semantics. The point is," he continued, at the contemptuous look on Hermione's face, "is that I have Harry's best interest at heart."

"Since when," she spat, and he was surprised at the venom in her voice. He hadn't been expecting it. He didn't know where it came from, either.

"For how long was Harry your weapon? How long was he a tool to be used to usher in the defeat of Voldemort? Did you have his best interests at heart when you faked your own death? Did you think that would make him feel better?" She spoke quickly, vehemently, as if she'd wanted to say that for a long time.

Dumbledore didn't know how to respond. "Look…Hermione…Harry and I got over our differences long ago. This isn't about that. This is about you and him, and Mr. Weasley."

"He's dead, Albus."

That was news to him…it was strange; he usually kept up on things like that. "Really…that is most unfortunate…tell me, how did he die?"

Hermione slouched slightly. "He carried the same disease Ginny had, and it expressed itself."

"But…if my understanding of genetics is correct, that is impossible."

Hermione took a deep breath and let it out noisily. "And I will tell you the same thing I told Harry: recessive traits can be expressed under extreme stimuli."

Dumbledore's brain snapped to the right conclusion immediately. "Ginny." He paused. "And Harry," he added.

Hermione nodded. "And before you ask why I'm not upset about it, it's because it was six years ago."

"Oh," was all Dumbledore said. It was very odd that he didn't know about it, but he shrugged it off. He couldn't know everything.

"Well, regardless," he continued, "this is about you and Harry. And like I said, I'm looking out for him." Hermione glared at him. "Not to mention the fact that there are only two magical people who know where he is at the moment."

She sat up. "And who would they be."

"Myself, and Helen, who is with him." He noticed her face turn slightly sour at the mention of Helen's name.

"Something wrong with Miss Potter, Hermione?"

"No—yes. I don't know, but I do know that she hates me."

"Is there a reason for it?" Dumbledore asked. He was pretty sure he knew where Helen's hostility came from, but he wanted to hear Hermione say it. It would be good for her.

"Yeah…she thinks I was responsible for Harry's depression."

Dumbledore leaned forward, looking over his half-moon glasses at her. She met his gaze. "And what do you think?"

Her eyes slipped over his head. "I think…I think that she overreacted a bit. I hate what happened between Harry and I, and Ron, but that was so long ago. It's in the past, which is where I think it should stay. We all need to just move on…"

Dumbledore considered the young witch for a moment. It seemed like she was brilliant in all but the areas that really mattered in life. "Ten years _is_ a long time, Hermione." Her eyes slid back to his. "Long enough to move on, I'd say."

"Exactly!" she exclaimed, and smiled at him. The smile faded, however, when Dumbledore made no similar action.

He shook his head briefly. "I'm afraid you're missing what's right in front of you."

At her confused look, he continued. "It seems to me that Harry _has_ moved on, and that you are the one stuck in the past."

"I…I—what?" She clearly couldn't grasp what he was trying to say.

"Tell me this: how did he seem when you talked to him? Assuming you did, of course."

"He, well, he seemed pretty distant. At first, though, he was hostile, but that faded. It wasn't an unfriendly distant after that…just…distant."

"And why could that be?" She was getting closer to the point…

"I don't know. We had such a strong connection." Dumbledore gave her another piercing gaze.

She was silent for a moment, and then stood abruptly. "What? What are you trying to say here? He no longer thinks of me as a friend? We're not even acquainted even more?" She was right in front of his desk.

"Hermione…please calm down. I'm not trying to get you angry; I'm trying to make you see certain…things." She huffed for a moment, and then plopped back down into the chair. There was a _whoosh_ as the air rushed out of the cushion.

At Dumbledore's newest penetrating gaze, she shrugged her shoulders and looked helplessly at him. "Well? Please, elaborate…"

"Don't you think it is a bit unrealistic to come back here after ten years and expect Harry to be the same person?" After a moment, she slowly shook her head. "To expect that he wouldn't have moved on?" She shook her head again, and he saw that she was biting her lip. If he remembered correctly, tears or anger weren't far away.

"So, basically…there's no chance of Harry and I ever having anything again?" Dumbledore raised his eyebrow at the word 'anything', but did not comment on it.

"No…that is not what I meant. I would never say that. I'm just trying to save you the trouble of making Harry angry and starting this whole cycle over again." And Dumbledore meant what he said. He didn't want to see Harry, and by association Helen, become like they had been, and even Hermione as well. He knew what she was capable of, if only she put her intellect to the true issues.

"Then…what should I do?" she asked, in very humble, resigned voice. He recognized it as her want or, perhaps, subconscious need to be taught.

"You first need to realize that you both are different people, Hermione. You both transitioned from teenagers to young adults, and then adults, away from each other. Your perspectives and opinions are bound to be different than before.

"Also," he added, "you can't forget that Harry has a family now. I don't know if he realizes it, but at some point Helen became more than just his adoptive daughter. They have an interesting relationship—there is a quite a duality between them."

"Duality?" Hermione asked.

"To me, and to some others, it seems like they are the perfect blend of father – daughter and brother – sister."

"Ah," was all Hermione said, and her face looked thoughtful.

"If you really want to rectify the situation, I think you should keep an open mind. No offense, again, but your biggest weakness is that once you set your mind to one thing it's very hard to change it." He just looked over his glasses at her when she gave him a cross look. "If you approach Harry thinking he is still the same person that you left, then I'm afraid you could just make things worse."

"They can't get much worse," she muttered, but Dumbledore heard it.

"Oh, but I'm afraid they can. I would say that Harry is apathetic about your return at the moment, but that could change rather quickly, especially with Helen."

She rested her head in her palm once again. "There's another problem that needs some work. Helen."

"What is the root of it?" Dumbledore prodded her. He wanted her to do some of the serious thinking herself.

"She's jealous of me."

"_Jealous_?" Dumbledore asked. He couldn't keep all of the incredulity out of his voice. Surely she didn't think Helen was jealous. "You think that Helen is jealous of you?"

Hermione looked up. "Yeah…"

"And _what_ could possibly have led you to that conclusion?" Dumbledore didn't want to be short with her, but he knew that Hermione was smarter than this. If only she would look at the situation from the outside for a moment…

Dumbledore watched her chin go up slightly. "Isn't it obvious? She wants Harry for herself."

Dumbledore took off his glasses and set them on his desk. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was slowly but surely losing his patience, and he was a _very_ patient man.

"What is it?" came the once-again timid voice of Hermione. She must have realized that she'd said something off.

"Do I really have to tell you?" At her blank look, he quoted: "'She wants Harry for herself.' Do you honestly believe that?"

"What else am I supposed to think?"

"Hermione…_Hermione_…Helen thinks of Harry as her _father_. She wants to protect him. She wouldn't be _jealous_ of you if you became friends with him again. Far from it, actually; she'd probably embrace you if you made Harry happier." At the sudden gleam in her eyes, Dumbledore held up his hand. "But…we are getting ahead of ourselves."

"Do you…do you think you could tell me where they are?" she asked.

Dumbledore sighed. "I don't know, Hermione. Harry didn't explicitly state that I shouldn't tell others, but I'm not sure if he'd welcome you at the moment. Him and Helen are relaxing their vacation away."

"So I'm just supposed to wait until they get back in five weeks?"

Dumbledore didn't answer her right away. "Wouldn't you say it might be best to wait until they return to Hogwarts?"

Hermione shook her head. "No…I really would like to see him now."

Dumbledore put his glasses back on. "If I tell you where he is…what are you going to do?"

"Well…find him, of course."

"And then?"

She paused. "I don't know…I haven't thought that far ahead."

"Well, I suggest that you _do_," he said, emphasizing the last word. If he told her where Harry was, he wanted to be absolutely sure she wasn't going to make a fool out of herself, and that Harry wouldn't come back angry with him.

"Alright, alright…" she said.

"Well?" he asked again.

Hermione clenched her teeth for a moment. "I'm going to try and rebuild things, ok? Does that satisfy you?"

"We shall see, Hermione, we shall see…" He began to shuffle some papers on his desk.

"Well, where is he?" she asked, almost impatiently.

He stopped the shuffling: this was it. Should he tell her, or should he not? He weighed the options in his mind for a moment, and then decided to. "He has a villa on the Mediterranean in Sicily." He gave her the exact address.

She seemed to be slightly surprised about the exotic locale, but said nothing about it. She stood and began to head for the exit.

"Hermione," Dumbledore called. Now that he'd told her where Harry was, he wanted her to be clear on something.

"Yes?" she asked without turning back.

"Please keep in mind all that we've said here today." She nodded and resumed her trek for the door. As she opened it, he said, "And don't expect miracles. It will take some time." The door closed without any further acknowledgement from her, and Dumbledore went back to the papers on his desk. It was out of his hands now.

----------

A light breeze blew across the flat expanse. Hermione walked slowly and casually down the slightly rutted dirt lane, watching the flowers in the fields surrounding her wave in the wind. The sun was very hot, but the air currents caressing her face did enough to alleviate any discomfort she had.

As she got closer and closer to the Sea, she could smell the water in the air, and it excited her senses. It had been a long since she'd been to any large body of water, especially one as beautiful as the Sicilian Mediterranean, and she wanted to see it. It surprised her somewhat that Harry had picked such a wonderful locale for his vacation home, but she supposed that after all the dreary years in Britain he had reason to branch out a bit. She crested a small knoll, and stopped for a moment to enjoy the view. A long, spectacular beach spread out in both directions, and the Mediterranean was out in front of it as far as the eye could see. It seemed to be true that it had some of the clearest waters known to man. Lining the beach were villas of various sizes, ranging from almost palatial to fairly modest.

The lane widened and flattened out as it came closer and closer to the homes, and Hermione had to consult the sign for a moment to figure out which way she had to go. Finding the range with Harry's address, she turned left, and started parallel to the beach. As the numbers got closer and closer to Harry's, the homes increased in size slightly. When his villa came into view, she stopped again to regard the impressive structure.

It was three stories tall, made of a light sandstone or brick, and had many open verandas. She could see at least four bay windows, three large sliding glass doors, and from where she was standing, it looked like he had his own private stairway down to the beach. There was a fairly large veranda at the back, facing the beach, and she assumed that it contained a pool. It was beautiful, and it must have cost a fortune.

Something glinting in the sun caught her eye, and she turned away from the house slightly. On the opposite side of the road, away from the beach, there was a person moving very quickly. They seemed to be dancing…or twirling…and there was something in there hands that was glinting in the light.

It took her a few moments to realize it was in fact Harry, but the shaggy black hair was what finally clued her in. She could only stare at what he was doing. He was shirtless and shoeless, and he was doing some kind of exercise with…a sword?

He was moving very fast; his actions were fluid and graceful. Hermione had never seen him, or anyone else for that matter, move like that, and she wondered what exactly he'd been up to all these years. He had an amazingly well defined upper body—none of his muscles were bulging, exactly, but it was apparent to her that there was an incredible amount of power in them. His legs were the same way; in fact, they looked even better. He must have been doing a lot of running.

She tried to follow the movements of his sword, but it was a little too fast for her. Each time she would catch it with her eyes, it would slip away again, only to glint in the light a moment later. A sudden stronger breeze blew up around her, pushing her hair into her face, and alighting the pollen from the myriad flowers into the air. It was a mesmerizing sight—she watched Harry stop to look at the colors in the air around him. He turned around in a circle, taking in the sight, but stopped when he saw her standing there. His green eyes locked with her chocolate ones.

----------

The sight before him captivated Harry. It was almost as if he was looking at an angel. The pollen that had been blowing through the air seemed to be circling around this person. Sweat dripped into eyes, blurring his vision slightly, but he didn't move to clear it. The wind was blowing the brown hair of this beauty around her face, so he couldn't quite make out whom it was, but he could tell that she was amazing. She was wearing a white summer dress, with thin straps over her shoulders. It went down to around her knees, revealing toned calves and sandal-clad, painted-toenail feet. Her voluptuous curves were highlighted by the wind, which wrapped the dress around her hips and chest slightly. He wasn't sure who it was, but he didn't think he'd ever seen something so beautiful in his life.

He reached up to clear his eyes as the wind died down, and when he brought his hand down, he froze. The world stopped for a moment—the angel that he had been looking at was Hermione. At first, he didn't know what to think, or what to do. The thoughts that had been going through his head were a bit awkward now, and he didn't know if he'd be able to keep the blush off his face if he went over to her. It was taken out of his hands, though, when Hermione made her way toward him. His eyes were drawn to the curve of her skin as it fell from her throat to her chest…but he looked back at her face as she drew near.

"Harry?" she asked.

He must have had a weird look on his face, because she was regarding him strangely. Then he remembered that he was holding a sword, and that she probably didn't know anything about it. He silently cast the reverting charm, and slid his wand into the waistband of his shorts. The strange look remained, though; perhaps it wasn't the sword.

He said the first thing that came to mind. "What are you doing here, Hermione?"

She just looked at him for a moment. Her eyes flicked to his body and then back to his face. He grew slightly uncomfortable under her gaze. There was something about the way that she was looking at him that was unfamiliar. He didn't recognize it as any look he'd seen on her face before.

"Who told you where I was?" he asked, trying another question. Even though he was pretty he knew he wanted her to at least say something.

"Albus did," she responded, and turned slightly to face the villas and the beach. "Quite the impressive home, Harry," she added.

Harry blinked as more sweat attempted to cloud his vision. He really needed to freshen up. He cast quick drying and cleaning charms on himself. He felt a slight twinge in his right bicep, and began some stretching routines. He noticed that Hermione would look at him quickly every few moments.

"It came with quite the impressive bill, too," he said, lightly. Her lips twitched into a small smile.

"I'm sure it did," she said, and brushed some hair away from her face.

"So…why _are_ you here?" he asked again.

She stared beyond the villa at the Sea for a moment, and then turned back to him. He straightened up, having finished his stretching.

"Because…there are some things that we need to talk about."

Harry kept getting distracted by way her dress would wrap tightly around her hips. He shook the thought off, and focused on her face. "Haven't we already done that?"

"Not really, no," she said. Harry hesitated for a moment, and then motioned with his hand toward the villa. She followed at his side, a little behind him.

"I must say…I'm a little surprised to see you," he said, and he meant it. He hadn't really expected to see her until Helen and him returned to Hogwarts.

"I thought you would be, and so did Albus, but here I am."

"Indeed," was all he said.

"Where's Helen?" she asked. Harry noticed some tension in her voice.

"Umm…probably on the beach. She might be swimming in the Med." Helen had turned into a real beach bum in the time they had spent in Sicily in past five years, and she spent most of her days down there.

"This area is so beautiful," Hermione said as they reached the front door of the villa. Harry saw that she was looking all around.

"Yes, it is," he said, and he opened to door. He heard a small intake of breath as she stepped over the threshold behind him, and he held back a smirk.

"Wow…" she breathed. "Your place is beautiful, too."

"Thanks," he said. He moved into the sitting area, which was well lit by the midday sun coming in through the many large panoramic windows. Hermione just stared out one of them, drinking in the view of the Mediterranean.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said. "I've gotta take a shower." She nodded slowly, still staring out of the window, and Harry turned and left. He was still slightly shaken from his initial impressions of Hermione, before he had known it was she, and he needed a little time to sort through them. The shower would be a long one.


	20. Summer Daze, Part II

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: Please review. Enjoy!**

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Chapter 20: Summer Daze, Part II

_Hermione approached the Burrow in the waning light of the evening. The crickets were singing their dusty tune and the shadows were long. She swung her arms idly as she walked down the well-worn path toward the front door of the house. She passed under the shade of a large tree and when she came out again, she stopped and turned toward the sun. She squinted at the mellow orange light, which was just starting to dip below the trees. She sighed to herself as flashes of memories of the past eight years of her life—seven of which were extraordinary—flitted across her consciousness. She knew her lip was trembling, but she didn't have enough energy to cry. The day had been draining, emotionally and physically._

_She still couldn't believe that he hadn't come after her. In the back of her mind, she knew she had been expecting it. She would even go so far as to acknowledge that _that_ was the real reason that she had gone to see him; she had wanted to assert whether or not he would have stopped her. Now, though…the answer seemed apparent. He didn't care enough to chase her, and she knew she shouldn't. She turned away from the sun, letting the spots fade away for a moment, and resumed her trek toward the house she had called home for some time now. But…not for much longer…_

_She had been trying to figure out for quite a while where it had all gone wrong. She had put her mind to the task, and for the first time that she could remember, she had come up with no solid conclusions. She allowed herself some egotism in terms of her intelligence, but that had deflated rapidly, as the situation had gotten worse and worse. It had been washed away by her failure to remedy whatever had happened and by her failure to not be able to step above the petty differences that separated them all. She had made her choice long ago, and as stubborn as she was, she knew she had to stick with it. If she went back on that decision…that decision of the heart…there was no telling how much further it would screw things up._

_And that was why she had agonized for so long over that damn letter. It caused her a great many days of anguish, to reduce what she wanted and needed to say to Harry to mere written words, but somehow she had gotten through it. She wanted to leave him something to remember her by, and hoped that by infusing the letter with _some_ of what she was feeling at the moment that he would begin to understand a little bit about exactly what was going on._

_The door to the Burrow got closer and closer, and one chapter in her life was coming to an end. Besides the fact that she wanted a final judgment on exactly what Harry was thinking, she had gone to Hogwarts that day to say goodbye to her friend…and she did still consider Harry one of her best friends, even if he didn't have those same feelings anymore. She would never be able to think of him as anything less, because of everything they'd been through and shared together, and she wanted to make sure that he got an idea of that._

_She hadn't wanted to break down emotionally, but in the end it couldn't be helped. If she had the tears left, she would probably be crying right now, but as it was, they were all gone. She had rested comfortably in his hug for a moment, drifting away in some alternate reality that only a stressed mind could create, until the clearing of his throat brought her back. She knew that she had to leave the room, to see if he would follow, and to do that she couldn't stay there with him. It was so hard, though, going through that door…_

_He hadn't come after her. She had been expecting it, but he hadn't. She had almost gone back once or twice, but she steeled her resolve and continued on her journey back to the Burrow. She had made her choice, and she was happy with it, even though it was bittersweet. She was getting someone she loved in Ron, but she was losing the next best thing in Harry. And that was what it boiled down to: was Harry really the next best thing? Was he really second best to Ron where it mattered? She thought she had answered that question long ago, when a young redhead had eaten slugs to defend her honor, but over the years her perception of that moment had become slightly skewed._

_It had become slightly skewed with all of the petty and childish things that Ron had done, especially their episode before and during the Yule Ball, and their sixth year. She felt horrible about that…abandoning Harry like that, all because most of her intellect was bent on making Ron jealous. What had that caused? Well, she couldn't pin it down exactly, but she was pretty sure that she could trace all of their current problems back to that year._

_She had read somewhere, in some Muggle book, that combat and war could cause what was known as post-traumatic stress syndrome. She had read that such strong stimuli, such as seeing people die, could cause rifts to grow between people; they could develop between friends, family, loved ones, and anyone else. She had at first thought that something like that could possibly be the answer she was looking for. Then though, when she had sat down and really searched her soul, she had come back to her sixth year, and all that had transpired._

_When she looked at it objectively like that—or as objectively as she could—she knew that her actions that year had sown the seeds of dissension among the three of them. She had basically ignored Harry; she had abandoned him. She had always been there for him previously during their time at Hogwarts, but she hadn't been during that year. She had been too focused on her stupid adolescent issues to be concerned about the welfare of Harry, and hence the relationship the three of them shared, and it was at that moment that it had all begun._

_She rested the flat of her palm on the hard surface of the door. When she stepped over this threshold…that was it. She knew that, at the time at least, their actions hadn't seemed like a big deal, but she could clearly see the route the rotting of their bond had taken, and how it had been jumpstarted by the distance she had put between herself and Harry, and the petty squabbles she had had with Ron. Ron and her had ended up together, that was true, but there was also something about their relationship that seemed a little bitter; she didn't know if it was on her part or his; perhaps it was both. She did not know._

_There was no doubt about the fact that she loved Ron, because if there were, she wouldn't be pressing against the door and stepping into the Burrow. She wouldn't be looking around to see if he was in sight, and she wouldn't be calling out his name to see where he was._

"_Ron?" Nothing but silence greeted her…that was odd. They were leaving for America later that night, using a Ministry-approved long distance Apparation point, and she would have expected him to be around, packing frantically. She had been packed for several days now, but she knew for a fact that Ron had been procrastinating, as usual. She walked through the kitchen into the living area._

"_Ron?" she called up the stairs. Still no answer. She looked around again for a moment, taking account of all the small things she had never really noticed before. In all her time at the Burrow, she had never taken the time to really look around at what was there. In a way, it was kind of morbid, because most of it remained the same as the day Arthur and Molly had been killed, but it was also somewhat of a tribute. Their lives had been snatched without recourse, and Ron felt that it would be an injustice to them to disturb whatever precious possessions they had had. As a result, Ron and Hermione had done very little actual _living_ in the Burrow that summer._

_The Burrow had always felt warm and inviting, because of the people and the love that resided there, but now, looking around, she couldn't help but feel a slightly alien presence in it. It was something like…age…or maybe disuse…but it was something that didn't belong in the Burrow. She had a brief image of her swirling out of the Floo network into the Weasley's living room, and looking up and seeing the bright, smiling faces of both Harry and Ron. It must have been from…well, it didn't matter anymore. There would never be anything like that again._

_Hermione walked back into the kitchen and moved toward the back door, but paused when she finally did see Ron. He was sitting on the rock wall that ran along the back of the garden, facing away from her. He was slouched a tiny bit, but she couldn't make out anything else because of the sun. He was silhouetted against the dying rays of another day._

_She walked into the backyard, letting the door flap noisily back into its frame, but Ron still didn't move. He looked like a dark statue from where she was standing. She really hoped that he had done all of his packing…_

"_Ron?" she called for a third time, as she approached his back. She climbed over the wall and sat next to him, looking at his face. It was impassive; he seemed to be staring into the sun, much as she had been doing just a few minutes before._

"_Babe?" she asked, gently putting a hand on his arm. The barest flicker of movement in his eyes betrayed the fact that he was aware she was there…yet he seemed to be ignoring her. She tightened her grip a tiny bit._

"_Where were you today, Hermione?"_

"_Err…I had to do some shopping," she haltingly said. She hadn't expected him to ask it of her, and she had no answer ready. She knew that he would be absolutely furious if he found out she went to see Harry, but she also knew that she was her own woman. She could do as she pleased, whether Ron approved of it or not, and if he didn't like it, then he could…_

_He could what? What was she just going to think? It had been on the tip of her thoughts, but whenever she got to that point, of really thinking or saying what was bothering her, it would just slip away. She couldn't put it into words…it was just some…feeling._

"_Really? Where?" he asked coolly. His eyes had not moved, and his lips had barely parted to allow the syllables through._

"_You know, Diagon Alley," she replied, evasively. She wanted to get off this subject; she was not comfortable talking about Harry with Ron, even indirectly. At the moment, the subject was the huge pink elephant in the room, but she hoped over time, and because of the distance her and Ron were putting between England and them, it would fade. She hoped._

"_Hmmm…really? I was there for a while. I'm surprised I didn't see you."_

"_We must have been in different shops," she replied. There was an odd tone to his voice…_

_Finally, he turned slightly toward her; his eyes followed his body after a moment and they rested on hers. They were piercing._

_He sighed. "Why are you lying to me, Hermione?"_

_Hermione froze. "What?" she managed._

"_You heard me," he said, softly. "You're lying…and I just want to know why."_

"_What—"_

"_You were with Harry today," he cut her off. His gaze seemed to strengthen for a moment, and then he turned back to the sky, from which the sun had finally just slipped._

_Hermione had only one thing to say, since she could no longer deny it. "How did you know?" She winced a tiny bit, because it came out sounding a bit more like a demand than a question._

"_Because I followed you as far as Hogwarts," he responded, simply._

"_You what?" she asked, unable to keep the incredulity out of her voice._

_He shrugged lightly, almost carelessly. "I followed you."_

_Hermione wasn't angry—she couldn't be. As she had noticed before, she was too drained to feel much emotion. She _was_ annoyed, however. "And what would possess you to do that? You don't trust me?"_

_Ron snorted, as if in irony or mirth. "You lied to me, didn't you?" Well…yes…she had, but there had been a good reason for that. Hadn't there been? That didn't mean Ron couldn't trust her…that just meant there were some things that she and Ron just couldn't see eye to eye on._

"_You know why I did that, Ron." The whole conversation had an odd tone about it—one or both of them should have been angry, furious really, but both of them had remained fairly calm._

"_No…no I don't, not really, Hermione." He turned toward her once again, and she watched as, visibly, a shadow moved over his face. Night really was falling. "Enlighten me," he added, dryly._

"_You can't understand Ron, so I think we should just stop talking about this. We're leaving in a few hours, and I think we should let the past be the past. Remember it, sure, but don't dwell on it."_

_Ron smirked and clapped his hands lightly twice. He had a very sardonic tone when he spoke. "Bravo, Hermione, surely one of the best speeches you've ever given." He paused. "Too bad it's utter bullshit."_

"_Excuse me?" Hermione asked. Her annoyance was starting, ever so slightly, to flare a little…_

"_You heard me. Tell me…if the past is not to be dwelt on, why did you go see Harry today? That seems to be dwelling on it, to me."_

_Hermione pushed herself off the wall and walked forward a few steps; she wrapped her arms around herself as she felt the first chill of twilight settle onto her skin. The western sky was a deep blue now, and if she turned around, she knew the east would be black._

_Was she dwelling on the past? Was that what she was doing? If she had gone to see if Harry would stop her, or say something to her, was that dwelling on what was about to become the past. No…it wasn't dwelling on it. It was trying to save it—it might have been a fine distinction, but it was there nonetheless. She had already accepted that she was leaving for America, but she wanted to see if something could have been rebuilt before she left. But…it couldn't have. She had left, and he had not followed. And here she stood, on the cusp of leaving the country of her birth, with the man she'd convinced herself she loved, being subjected to an interrogation. She did not like it; she felt she had the right to be a little nervous, and a little nostalgic, because she wasn't going to be back. She turned to Ron._

"_No, Ron. I'm not dwelling on anything. I'm letting go. That's what I'm doing. There were some loose ends that I had to tie up, and they would have been hanging over me for the rest of my life if I hadn't." Ron was silent. He didn't even seem to be looking at her. She took a few steps closer._

"_What about you Ron? You still have time, you know…you still have time to go see him, and say goodbye at least. You know you'll regret it for the rest of—"_

"_No!" he interrupted, forcefully, and stood. "I refuse to talk to or be seen with _Harry Potter_ ever again," he said, sneering at the name of his once best friend. His face faded for a moment, as night fell totally, and when her eyes adjusted, she saw that he was looking up, toward the stars._

_Hermione was about to say something, and she knew that it would probably create huge problems, but she had to do it. "Ron…you can still visit her grave…" she trailed off. She watched as he did not move—he just stood staring up at the clear night sky._

_Finally, he just sighed and dropped his head. He turned around and started back toward the Burrow. "Come on, let's finish our packing. We're leaving in about an hour," was all he said. Hermione watched his retreating back for a moment, wishing that he'd suddenly want to talk about the death of his sister, but it was as it had been for six months now—he avoided the topic completely. She knew it was bound to come out sometime, and the longer he went without talking about the worse it would be when it did…that was why she kept trying to get him to talk about it._

_The door banging against the Burrow shook her from her thoughts, and she saw that Ron had gone back inside. She looked once at the stars, which seemed to be very bright, and followed him. Once inside, she made sure she had everything she needed, shrunk it all, and stored it in a pocket. It was amazing that she could fit everything she needed to live in a pocket…with the aid of magic, of course. She heard Ron banging around upstairs, and moved to sit by the front door. All that she could do was wait now…wait for Ron to come down so they could leave England._

_The soft, straining sound of the crickets came once again to her ears, but it seemed to be subdued somewhat, almost covered by the darkness. She had little time to reflect on that odd observation, however, because Ron came down the stairs just then. He looked back up them, and then waved his wand, saying, "_Nox_." All the lights on the upper floors must have gone out, because they stairway was now dark. He looked around, surveying the remaining rooms on the first floor._

"_Do we have everything?" Hermione nodded. There was nothing to say. If they didn't, they wouldn't be coming back for whatever they had left._

"_All right, then…let's go," he said. She gave one last parting glance to the room, and strode through the door. The light from the house cast uneven patterns on the lawn through the windows, and she watched them as Ron's shadow passed through two, finally coming to rest behind her. They disappeared, and she was plunged into darkness. She heard Ron close and lock the doors, cast an Imperturbable Charm on the house, and then move beside her._

"_Ready?" he asked. She nodded again. He disappeared, and so did she. They arrived at the Ministry layover point, nodded to one of the security guards, and turned toward each other._

"_I'll see you on the other side," intoned Ron, with just a small amount of false cheerfulness, or at least that's what it sounded like to Hermione, and he disappeared. Hermione squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. She was really going to do it._

_Hermione Disapparated with a slight pop, leaving her homeland behind with a rush of air, which moved to fill the suddenly empty space._

----------

Hermione was broken from her reverie by the sound of the sliding glass door to the veranda opening and closing. She blinked, clearing her thoughts away, and turned from the view of the Sea. She almost winced when she saw that it was Helen that had entered; she had not seen Hermione yet, though. She was drying her hair with a towel, and it was covering her eyes. Hermione fleetingly wished she looked that good in a bikini.

The inevitable moment came soon thereafter, when Helen dropped the towel and stopped dead in her tracks. For a moment, her face was blank, but her eyes narrowed quickly and she scowled.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she asked. There was some contempt evident in her voice.

"I'm here because I need to speak with Harry," Hermione replied, trying to keep her voice flat and emotionless. She really didn't need to have another row with Helen, and it would certainly benefit her mental health if she could avoid any more stress at the moment.

Helen pursed her lips. "Oh," she said, and turned her back on Hermione. She walked from the room without looking back. Hermione shrugged to herself—annoyed indifference was better than open hostility, even if neither were very good in the long run.

Hermione moved to a couch and sat down. She leaned back and crossed her legs, waiting for Harry. She didn't know how long she'd been staring out the window, thinking about the past, but the water from the shower was no longer running. He would surely be out in a few minutes. She had to think carefully about how she wanted to approach what she needed to talk about, because things were delicate at the moment. As Dumbledore had said, Harry's apathy about her could just as easily be turned into scorn; she wanted to make sure that didn't happen. She hadn't come back to England to be a Professor to be hated by her colleagues, which she knew was what would happen if Harry and her were on bad terms. She was sure they all respected him and his opinions.

She relaxed in the sun as it came through a window for a few moments, and let her mind wander to how nice the Mediterranean climate was compared to Britain's. She couldn't ever remember as bright, hot, or humid a day in England or Scotland. She wasn't opposed to winter and snow, but she was more naturally inclined to the heat. Before Hogwarts, before she had known she was a witch, she and her parents used to go to Australia and New Zealand for a few weeks in the winter, to escape the frigid climate, if only for a little while. She found that, even though she was slightly pale from living in Britain, she warmed up to the sun quickly, and became a nice golden brown after only a few days in it. She never burned.

It was also curious that her normally brown hair would lighten quite a bit, making it appear a dirty or dark blond; that didn't really bother her at all, either. She had quite liked the way she looked after a few weeks on the beach, and she hadn't ever seen a nicer beach than the one that was in Harry's backyard. The Mediterranean was so clear…the beaches were so clean…and the temperature was so right. She could get used to this…

But, she was getting a little ahead of herself. If she was to get used to this type of weather, she had to make sure she didn't get kicked out in the next few hours. Things hadn't exactly gone great when she'd talked to him at Hogwarts—they could have been worse, that was for sure—and she wanted to make sure they did now. If she was completely honest with herself, she knew that if her and Harry didn't at least become acquaintances again, then there was really no point in her staying in Britain. She could just as easily drop from the teaching position as she had accepted it, but she hoped it didn't come to that. She would enjoy teaching her once favorite subject.

As for staying if things didn't work out…why would she? She had more ties to America than Britain at the moment, mostly because her parents still resided across the Atlantic, and if that continued, then she might as well go back. She wouldn't be an Auror though…that was out of the question. She had already explored that career option, and had found that law enforcement wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Everything just seemed petty and insignificant to her, which was something her colleagues couldn't understand. Granted, they hadn't been present for the defeat of the worst dark wizard in history, but that didn't mean they couldn't _try_ to understand.

She sighed to herself. She seemed to have lived her life in two stages thus far; the first was the time before and after her years at Hogwarts while the second was those years. Before and after those seven years…she had always been on the outside. She had always felt like she was missing something—perhaps the punch line of some huge joke, or maybe even the meaning of life. She had always felt like she was an outcast, and her intellect didn't help in that regard. It seemed like her classmates, before, and her colleagues, after, had either been insulted or overwhelmed by her intelligence. She couldn't do anything about that, though. It wasn't like she could just turn off her common sense, or her brain. She couldn't, and she wouldn't…but it cost her. It cost her any real friendship and acceptance.

At Hogwarts, however…she hadn't been shunned. Maybe at first, before she had found her place, but that had changed. She had met the two most wonderful people in the world, and they had saved her from death. But they had saved her from more than that…they had saved her from herself. She had finally known what it was like to be accepted and loved, in the platonic sense at least. Harry and Ron had understood her for who she was, rather than for what she said or how she acted, which she knew was a little overbearing sometimes, and in return she had given them as much of herself as she could. They had thrived off of each other for years, approximately five and a half, to be exact. They had what she had thought was an unbreakable bond.

It was with some clarity, though, that she could see that the events of their sixth year together were where it started. Ten years was a long time, as the Headmaster had told her, and during that time she had been able to figure out exactly when and where things had gone sour. She had also had time to figure out the true shape of her soul, and where it belonged, which was really the main reason why she had ended up back in Britain. She had needed to get that weight off her shoulders, but she had found that it wasn't going to be that simple or that easy.

Those same ten years that she had taken to figure things out had changed Harry in ways she didn't yet fathom, and she didn't know if she ever really would. He seemed so much…wiser…perhaps grounded…but definitely more mature than he had when she'd left. That Harry had been slightly withdrawn, extremely moody, and lacked a total confidence in himself. He had been selfless to a fault. This Harry…this Harry was light-years away from that one. This one was confident, extremely physically fit, was a caring and responsible father, and was an excellent teacher. She had missed the time he had spent changing, now that she could see the whole picture—or at least, what she knew as the whole picture—and she wasn't sure where she fit in anymore.

Her and Harry had quite a few obstacles they had to overcome before they could start to seriously rebuild any kind of friendship, and that all started here, today. She sat up a little bit and squared her shoulders with some resolve to be as open minded as she could be. It wouldn't do to be short or cross with him.

A door opened and closed somewhere within the villa, and she looked around expectantly. She let herself smile a little at the warmth playing across the bare skin of her upper chest, and thanked whatever foresight she had that she'd chosen to wear the white summer dress, rather than the dark one. The heat really did feel good.

----------

Harry moved lightly through the halls of the villa, passing from wooden floor, to carpet, and then to tile on his bare feet. He had thrown on a light t-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts. The shower had felt refreshing and cool, and it had given him time to think about what was going on.

He still couldn't get that image out of his head—it seemed burned into his brain; a cyclone of pollen twirling around the wind-blown figure of Hermione, in a short, white dress. His first impression had been of an angel, and going solely on the impersonal image, he could understand it, but he had been completely surprised when he had seen it was she. It just…it just didn't fit with every preconceived notion—real or otherwise—that he'd had of Hermione, both during his youth and the past ten years.

He had reached the conclusion, as the cool water sprayed over his thirsty body, that it was just a trick of the light, and the fact that he'd had sweat in his eyes. Surely, if he'd been able to see clearly, and if there hadn't been a confounded maelstrom of color swirling around her, he wouldn't have reached that same conclusion. He had convinced himself that it meant nothing; that is, until he walked nonchalantly into the sitting area.

He almost stopped dead, but caught himself, and continued on through as if he hadn't been affected. Hermione was sitting on the couch, in the sun, with her eyes closed. She was reclined slightly, and her long legs were crossed out in front of her. The white dress she was wearing seemed to be radiating the very light it was sitting in, creating a sort of halo effect. He shook his head as he entered the kitchen and went to pour himself a drink. That was twice in about an hour that his eyes had seemed to be playing tricks on him about Hermione…what was wrong with him? He popped open a bottle of Coke and poured two tall glasses, which were soon sweating with the many ice cubes he'd put in them. He carried them back into the sitting area.

He smirked to himself when he saw that Hermione still had her eyes closed; he walked so silently that she hadn't heard him come through the first time and she didn't know he had reentered. He carefully and noiselessly set his own glass on the side table, and crept up to her. Her looked at the exposed flesh of her lower legs, and a devious grin spread over his face. The outside of the glass he was holding was very cold…

He didn't know what possessed him to do it, but he bent over and placed the glass against the skin of the outside of one of her calves. He watched her eyes pop open in complete surprise, which soon turned to confusion. She must not have been able to figure out why her leg was suddenly cold, and why he was leaning over her, grinning like a fool. He brought the glass up and held it out to her.

"Thirsty?" he asked. She hesitated for a moment, as if thinking, and then reached out to take the glass.

"Yeah…I guess I am." She sipped the Coke, watching as Harry retrieved his glass and sat in a recliner opposite her.

"What was that for?" she asked. That curious air was still about her face.

Harry considered his answer for a moment, enjoying the sensation of the fizzing soda as it cascaded down his throat. "To break the ice," he finally said.

"I didn't know it needed breaking," Hermione retorted. Her voice was light.

"Well, we left each other last time with a bit of heavy dialogue," Harry said. It was interesting to him how they were dancing around what they both knew she was here to talk about.

"Yes, I suppose we did…but what good is breaking the ice if one can't get to the point?" she came back. Harry smiled inwardly—she seemed to have the same thoughts he did.

"Then what _is_ the point, Hermione?" He watched as she set her glass down on the side table, shifted slightly, and crossed her legs the other way. When she wasn't immediately forthcoming, he continued. "The journey from Scotland to Sicily isn't an easy one, even by Apparition…so surely there must have been some point in coming down here?"

"Why do you have to make this so hard?" she asked. Whatever lightness that had been in her voice was gone now; she spoke very quietly, almost solemnly.

"How am I making this hard for you?"

"You know exactly why I'm here, Harry." Well…he had some ideas, but to say he knew _exactly_ why she was there was a bit of a stretch. Harry set his glass down on the coffee table between them, and regarded Hermione for a moment. She stared right back.

"Alright…obviously, there is a huge issue that we just keep skirting around. And here it is: why have you come back after all this time? I think you made it pretty clear in that letter you left me that you weren't going to be."

She leaned forward a bit…and Harry had to redirect his attention away from how her dress fell away from her skin. He focused on her chocolate eyes, which seemed to be swimming slightly with some emotion.

"I came back because I had to, Harry."

"Why did you have to?" He wanted to hear it from her mouth.

"Because…because I did, ok? I had to come back because there were some things that I left unfinished." She was speaking very softly, almost in a whisper. She clasped her hands under her chin and leaned her elbows on her thighs. Harry watched the swaying of a few strands of her brown hair as it fell to frame her face.

"Like what? Come on, Hermione…you gotta give me more than that." At her blank look, he elaborated. "You know what? I honestly expected that I would _never_ see you again. _Never_. I think I had pretty much accepted that. So you'll have to excuse if it's a little hard for me to wrap my brain around you coming back. It just doesn't seem to fit."

Hermione seemed to let out a growl or some noise of frustration, and sat back; Harry briefly mourned the loss of the view, but it was only a passing thought. He focused on her lips as they started to move.

"Why can't it fit? We had something special, Harry, for many years…and just because things went bad there toward the end doesn't mean you or I should forget about that."

"Forget about it? Who said anything about forgetting about it," Harry responded. "You know as well as I do that we could never forget about our friendship, especially with all that we've been through. However…forgetting and moving on…well, they're totally different things." Harry reached for his glass and sipped it as he watched a few emotions play over Hermione's face. They looked like regret, sadness, and something else. He didn't know what it was.

"So you've moved on, and there's no chance of coming back?" she asked. He could hear a slight tremble in her voice, and he almost rolled his eyes. He did _not_ want a crying Hermione at the moment.

"Hermione…that is _not_ what I said," he replied as he watched her lip quaver. "And please don't cry." Her eyes darted to his and she bit her lip. She had a betrayed look in them, as if she couldn't believe he could tell that she was about to tear up.

"I'm sorry, but I can't help it, alright? I guess I expected a little too much in coming back. You've changed, Harry."

Harry shrugged helplessly. "Shouldn't I have? Should I still be that same poor sap that I was?" When Hermione gave no answer, he played his trump card. "Should I go back to being that same kid who almost took his life because his two best friends deserted him after his wife died?" At her shocked look, he implored, "Is that what you want?" He didn't like the slight amount of desperation he heard in his voice, but it couldn't be helped. All of these memories were uncovering long buried feelings.

Hermione leaned forward again, and he could see that same desperation in her eyes that he'd just been feeling. "You did?" she breathed.

Harry just nodded. He couldn't bring himself to say it again. That was the first time that he'd actually vocalized what he'd literally been about to do after she had left. A look of compassion settled on her face, and her eyes warmed up a bit. That wasn't what he wanted—pity. It was something he could do without.

"Hermione…I don't want your sympathy. That's not why I said that. I said that to prove a point. I'm much better off now than I was, and there is absolutely no way I could go back to being that way."

Her lip trembled inexorably once again, and this time she didn't even make the pretense of biting it. "Harry…oh…I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…" she hitched, and he watched as the first wet droplet slid down her cheek. It left a shining trail in the sunlight that was still falling over her.

Harry let a frustrated sigh out. "Hermione…there's nothing to be sorry about. This all happened to so long ago—like you said, I was a different person." He paused, and watched as she wiped one of her cheeks with the back of her hand. "No one is to blame anymore."

"See…that's not entirely true," she said slowly, and thickly. Her voice was wet with her emotions. "I had a lot of time to think about what happened over the past decade…and I came to realize when all of our problems started."

Harry raised his eyebrow, indicating that she should go on. "You remember during our sixth year…when I stopped being myself…?"

Harry nodded slowly. He did remember a time when Hermione had seemed to change a bit; she had become more focused on simple adolescent problems rather than what she normally focused on, which was usually further reaching and not as petty.

"Yeah…I remember…but I think we were all allowed to become lost in growing up, if only for a little while."

Hermione shook her head vehemently. "No, no. I did more than just become lost. I wasn't just wrapped up in my problems. I forgot everything that mattered to me—our friendship, the bond the three of us had…it drove a wedge between us, Harry."

"No, Hermione—"

"Yes, Harry," she cut him off, and he noticed there was some iron in her voice. She had obviously been thinking about this for a long time, and nothing would sway her from her opinion. "I lost sight of what was really important to me—my friends, my loved ones; the very people that had accepted me when no others would."

Harry remained silent, so Hermione went on. "You see…you and Ron were the first people, aside from my parents, who were able to see past my 'know-it-all' personality, or whatever you want to call it, and know me for the girl I really was." She took a deep breath, rubbing her eyes for a moment, and then dropped her hands. She was once again looking directly into Harry's eyes.

"I saw Hogwarts and the Wizarding world as a second chance at life. Even at that young age, I knew I had nothing to be satisfied about with my other one. And at first…it seemed like the same things were happening. I was shunned…pushed aside, and basically disliked. I didn't think it was going to be any different. And then you and Ron changed all that.

"I was a scared little girl, and you and him provided the comfort that I needed. You two were my rock…there is no way that I would have gotten through Hogwarts if it hadn't been for the two of you." The only noise audible after her impromptu speech was the light crashing of waves on the beach. Hermione reclined once again in her seat, moving completely back into the sun, and Harry watched her silently regard him.

There was only way he could respond to what she had said. "How did we let things get so fucked up?" Surprisingly, she didn't even flinch at the curse.

"We drifted apart a bit in the sixth year, like I said…and then were so focused on the war and Voldemort that we forgot about it, or maybe we didn't even realize it. After Voldemort was gone, we weren't ready to face it, especially because we had never consciously acknowledged there might have been a problem."

"Is that an excuse, though?" Harry asked. "We didn't know about it, so we couldn't deal with it when it hit us?" It had been a long time since he'd really thought about what had happened, and all of his old justifications just didn't seem to measure up anymore.

"No…because there was something else fueling it." Harry knew what that was, but he waited for Hermione to say it. "Ron."

Harry leaned forward and put his glass back on the coffee table. "You know…I never really did fully understand why he blew up on my wedding night like that."

"It was like he said: he thought you ruined his family, Harry."

Harry pursed his lips. "Even Ron isn't that thick."

Hermione nodded once. "No…you're right, he wasn't. There was something else that was bothering him, and he used the family thing as an excuse. Harry…he felt guilty about not seeing Ginny…"

"He could have seen her at any point," Harry said, and there was very little sympathy in his voice. If Ron had still been alive and was standing before him at that moment, Harry still would not have been able to forgive him for how he'd abandoned Ginny. Then again…Hermione had done essentially the same thing…

"But…he didn't…and eventually that's why he died," she said, in a flat voice. Harry thought he almost heard disdain there. What exactly had happened between her and Ron during the four years they'd been together in America? That was a question for another day, though.

"All this is well and good, but that brings me back to my original question: why exactly are you here?"

He watched her face clench and then unclench. "I came back…I came back because I felt like I owed it to you, and to myself, to clear the air."

"Clear it then," Harry said. He hated to be callous like that, but he was actually pretty tired and his bed was calling his name. They could continue this chat another time…

Her face scrunched, so that her russet eyes just about disappeared, and she suddenly shot to her feet. "WHY DIDN'T YOU COME AFTER ME?" she yelled, and she crumpled back onto the couch. In no time, tears were streaming down her cheeks. Harry felt a pang somewhere deep inside as he watched his one-time best friend lose it, but the picture was all the more poignant with her curled up on the couch in the sun.

He wasn't exactly sure what her outburst had been about, however. "What…?" he asked, slowly.

"That day…why…why di-didn't you come after me?" She hadn't looked up at him.

"What day, Hermione?"

"THE DAY I LEFT," she yelled, again, but her voice was hoarse from the crying.

So that was it. She was talking about the day that she had let him know that she would be leaving his life forever—at least, at the point, it had been forever. She had expected him to do that?

"Tell me please, because I'd love to know, what in that conversation was supposed to clue me in to the fact that I was supposed to go after you?" he asked, and then flinched back slightly when she raised her head. He had obviously said something wrong, because there was a raw heat in her gaze he hadn't ever seen.

"_Clue_ you in? What was supposed to _clue_ you in? How about the years of friendship we shared, or all the trials that we had been through together, or the trust that we had once had in each other? Did all that mean so little?" She snorted in derision. "Apparently so, if those weren't clues enough for you." She angrily wiped her eyes and stood. Harry watched her hesitate for a moment.

"This was a mistake." She shook her head. "I'm sorry to bother you, and I'm sorry to have wasted your time." She turned and walked out of the room. Harry sat absolutely still for only a second, and then rocketed to his feet to follow. He caught up with her and captured one of her bare arms lightly in his hand. Her skin was warm from the sun. She tried to pull her arm from his grip, but he did not let her.

"Let go, Harry," she ground out. Her face was turned away from him, but he did not need to see it to tell that she was still crying.

"Hermione…" he started.

"LET GO, DAMNIT!" she cried, and turned her face toward him. Sure enough, tears were streaming away.

"No, Hermione…"

"HARRY," she yelled again, and beat once on his chest with her other hand, which was closed in a fist. He captured that arm in a lightning quick motion and pulled her to him, against her resistance.

The embrace was awkward at first, because she was so rigid and was trying to pull away, but it wasn't very long before she had melted into his arms and was sobbing away against his t-shirt. He felt her chest hitch against him several times as sobs wracked her body, and he brought his hands up to her upper back; he started rubbing lightly and whispered incomprehensible consolations into her hair. This was the _last_ thing he had wanted to do to her—reviewing what he'd said, he could see why she was so upset, even though he hadn't meant it like that.

He rested his cheek against her hair and rocked her slightly in his arms. He definitely felt comfortable, with Hermione in his arms. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed her hugs until now. Slowly, her crying died away. He lifted his head, and so did she; she looked into his eyes with shining ones.

"I'm sorry…thanks…" she said in a whisper, and slowly stepped back from the embrace. She seemed to hesitate, and Harry knew he did, but they were soon standing apart.

"Look, Hermione…I think we've said all we can today." He looked toward the clock on the wall of the entrance foyer, where they were currently standing. "Why don't you stay here—do you have any stuff?" he asked, interrupting himself. She pointed to a charm on her bracelet, which actually, upon closer inspection, was shrunken luggage.

"All right. There's a guest room just down that hall. Make yourself at home, or whatever. There's plenty of food and drink in the kitchen, which is through the sitting area from here…um, we don't keep our doors locked, so come and go when you want."

He looked at her for a moment, and then absently reached up to brush the wetness from her cheek. It was a surprisingly tender gesture, and he had no idea where it came from—from the look on her face, she didn't either. His hand lingered on her cheek for a little longer than was normal for that, and there was a sudden awkward silence in the room.

"Ok…well, I think I'm going to take a nap." Harry turned slowly, noticing how her eyes lingered on the hand that had been on her face. He was almost out of the foyer when he heard Hermione's voice.

"Thanks, Harry," she said. "For everything." He nodded and continued walking. The words struck and odd note of déjà vu in him…he spent the time it took to get to the master suite trying to figure it out.

And then he realized it—Helen had said the exact same thing to him, with the same inflection, the day before by the pool. As he fell onto his bed, he chuckled to himself. The world was going crazy.

----------

Helen had seen and heard everything. It wasn't as if she had _wanted_ to spy on her father, but she had a great deal of antipathy for Hermione. She wanted to hear what the older woman had to say…and was mildly surprised at how civil her and Harry had been toward each other.

It wasn't until the end that things had gotten ugly, when her father had said something really stupid—even Helen could see how cold it had sounded—and Hermione had almost left. Helen had watched the impromptu embrace with mixed feelings. On one side, she wanted her father to be happy and have friends, and someday perhaps a wife and real kids of his own, but on the other hand she knew that Hermione would only bring more hardship before anything got better.

Helen also resented the fact that Hermione had found it so hard to believe that Harry had almost taken his own life…even though Harry had downplayed it and shifted the blame to no one in particular. That was bullshit…Hermione and Ron were chiefly to blame, even if Harry was too forgiving to ever admit that to them.

She would watch her father and Hermione carefully during the next few days or weeks, or however long Hermione was going to stay at the villa. She was interested in seeing how things would develop.


	21. Reconciliation

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: I know I usually stay omniscient with one character per scene, but there is a specific scene in this chapter that I needed to be with two. Sorry if it's slightly confusing. Also, see if you catch my tiny homage to JK's work (specifically, something in HBP). Enjoy!**

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Chapter 21: Reconciliation

Hermione drifted awake slowly, and peacefully, with a soft breeze billowing the white curtains into the room, and the sounds of the beach reaching her ears. It took her a moment to recall where she was, because she couldn't ever remember a bed so soft or the smell of water so pleasant…

She sat up slowly as the images of the previous day came back to her, letting the satin sheets fall away from her scantily clad body. Sicilian nights were hot, and she had only worn her knickers and bra to bed. She must have slept all evening and all night; perhaps she was more tired than she had thought. The tint of the sun coming in told her that it was sometime during the midmorning, and that she should probably get up and see about getting something to eat and returning to the task of rebuilding her life.

She slipped from the bed and stood by the window for a moment, inhaling the salty, fresh scent of the Mediterranean. It was already quite warm…so she decided to put on a bikini. Maybe she could start to work on that golden tan.

The villa was fairly silent as she made her way toward the kitchen. She did not see or hear Harry or Helen anywhere, but shrugged it off. They may have gone out, or perhaps they were working out somewhere. Helen had looked like she trained just as much Harry did. She opened the Muggle refrigerator and smiled at how well stocked it was. She selected some orange juice and some bread, and set about making her breakfast. After toasting and buttering the bread, she poured a tall glass of the juice and cleaned up. She paused for a second, unsure of exactly where she should eat, and then decided that the veranda would be a nice setting.

She walked through the kitchen and the sitting room, slid the glass door open with her foot, and emerged into the sunshine. She couldn't help the smile that broke across her lips as the first rays warmed her skin; she walked around the pool and sat down at the small picnic table on the other side. She had a nice view of the beach from this point, as well as still being in the sun.

As she nibbled on the toast and sipped the juice, she perused the occupants of the beach. There were many just lounging about, sunning themselves; a few were moving about, and she could see several that were running. There also seemed to be two people that were…fighting with each other? Upon closer inspection, though, she recognized them as Harry and Helen, and that they were sparring with each other—with swords.

She had not questioned Harry about his sword the previous day, because she'd had other things on her mind, such as what she would say to him; now that there were no such immediately pressing matters, she did have a host of questions. For one…why did Helen have a sword also, and why were they both apparently so good at wielding them?

Harry's sword had been crimson and gold…and now she saw that Helen's was blue and bronze. Blue and crimson weren't the colors of any metal she could name, but her eyes widened in realization that the colors were of two of Hogwarts' houses. That must have had something to do with it…

Another thing that bothered her was that the swords were different. Harry's looked like some kind of long sword, or something medieval like that, and was pretty hefty. He was handling it well with one hand, though, which hinted to Hermione just how strong Harry really was. Helen, on the other hand, was using what Hermione knew to be a scimitar—she recalled the shape from many pirate stories she'd heard or read as a young girl.

And they were so fast. She could scarcely follow their movements, especially Helen's, but it didn't seem to attract any undue attention from the people on the beach. They must have been used to it at this point, because most barely gave their swordplay a second glance.

As she finished her breakfast, draining the last of the juice, she resolved to ask them about it later. For now, though…she smiled again to herself as she took a towel off a nearby chair and laid it across the warm stones of the veranda. For now she would get some sun. The questions would come later. She lay down on the towel and closed her eyes, and sure enough, the soft whisper of the waves, combined with the sun, soon lulled her back to sleep.

----------

"_Will you just _wait_ a minute!" Hermione yelled at Ron's back, frustrated._

_Ron threw up his arms and whirled on Hermione. She stood her ground against the furious look on his face._

"_What _is _it?" he asked, with that same frustration in his voice._

_Hermione stopped a few feet in front of him. Her Auror robes billowed around her body in the wind. "What is the problem?"_

_Ron rolled his eyes. "Look, can't we talk about this later? We have a job to do at the moment."_

"_It's _about_ the job," she retorted. "Ever since we got here…you've been short with everyone."_

"_Just what is that supposed to mean?" he asked._

"_Oh, come on, Ron! We've been here for three years now, and I don't think you've _once_ stopped working for more than eight hours at a time." She watched as he pursed his lips. "You snap at everyone…including me…all of the other Aurors think you're an arrogant prick."_

"_Well, big fuckin' deal!" he yelled, and turned his back to her. He started to walk away._

_Hermione sighed and put her hands on her hips, watching him go for a moment, and then followed. "Ron, wait a second." He just continued walking. "Ron!" He put up his hand, shook his head, and continued walking away._

"_You're just gonna walk away from me!" she cried at him. He stopped, and looked up to the sky._

"_So what if I do?"_

_Hermione approached his back slowly. "Ron…what are you talking about?"_

"_So what if I walk away from you. It's not like it matters." His voice had grown quiet. She was now a foot from his back. The wind swept up again, and she watched as his red hair flew up on his head._

"_Of course it matters. You know it does. Why would I want you to walk away?" She was confused._

"_Sometime we're going to have to stop playing games, Hermione."_

"_What…what games? Since when have we been playing games? We pursue dark wizards for a living. Tell me how that is a game," she demanded._

_He whirled on her, as he had done before. That same furious look encompassed his features._

"_I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT OUR FUCKING JOB!" he yelled in her face. She recoiled from the volume his voice, and his tone. There was something terrible in it._

_They regarded each other for a moment in silence. Hermione eventually spoke: "Then what is a game?"_

_Ron's face clenched for a moment, and he looked away. He gazed at something in the distance, following it with his eyes, and then brought them back to hers._

"_Us, Hermione. We are."_

_Hermione bit her lip. "What…I…I don't understand. What are you saying?"_

"_Come on. Do I really have to explain it to you?"_

_Hermione opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it. She stood still for a second, and then nodded mutely._

"_How long have we been together, now?" Ron asked. "For what…four and a half years?" Hermione nodded. "That's a long time…a long time for anything."_

"_Yeah, so what? We've been together for a long time." Hermione repeated._

"_But we haven't _been together_," Ron replied. At Hermione's disgusted look, Ron continued. "I meant just more than _that_, you know. I meant in terms of emotionally, intellectually…and yes, physically."_

"_I…" Hermione started._

_Ron held up his hand. "I know what the problem is, though."_

_Hermione cocked her head at him. "Oh," she said, almost sarcastically. Ron must have noticed her tone, because a shadow passed over his face._

"_It's you," he said. Hermione couldn't believe her ears; she couldn't believe he had just said that._

"_Me? ME?" she screeched. "I _hardly_ think this is one-sided!"_

"_No, no…you don't understand. It _is_ you, because you aren't willing to give yourself fully to this relationship."_

_Hermione's eyes widened and she shook her head incredulously. "What…how can you possibly know that about me?"_

"_I've known you for eleven years…I think I know enough to be able to tell that."_

_Hermione had had enough. "It's funny that this is all my fault, Ron…you're the one who can't get over the past."_

"_Don't…don't talk about my past. You know nothing about it."_

_Hermione laughed mirthlessly. "Nothing? Nothing, you say? So those same eleven years…they haven't meant the same to me? Well, I beg to differ. I was _there_, Ron…I was _there_ through it _all_."_

"_No you weren't. Where were you before we left?" he spat back._

"_I WAS RIGHT BY YOUR SIDE!" she screamed, red in the face. "I stood by your side when you abandoned Harry…I stood by your side when you abandoned your sister—"_

_Ron slapped her. He had turned an alarming shade of red. The stinging on her cheek was almost unbearable, but she ignored it. There was fire in her eyes when she raised them to look into Ron's._

"_I can't believe you just did that," she ground out. Ron, however, looked too angry to even care._

"_And I can't believe you said that. I _DID NOT_ abandon Ginny." He was breathing very heavily._

_The stinging finally prompted Hermione to raise a hand to her cheek. "Whatever you want to call it, Ron…you never even went to her grave."_

_His anger seemed to only grow. "Neither did you…and how could you even bring up Harry?" His voice was low and guttural. "He…he _still_ is the cause of all of my problems."_

_Hermione rolled her eyes. "How did you work that one out?"_

"_He took Ginny…and he took you!" he yelled, but then his face contorted terribly, and he fell to his knees. Hermione was still trying to work out what he meant, but the real, genuine pain on his face made her forget it. She dropped to her knees in front of him, taking his face in her hands. His breath was coming in short, rasping gasps, and he clutched at his chest._

"_Ron? Ron!" She shook him. "What's the matter?" she yelled into his face. His eyes were unfocused, staring at nothing._

_He grunted. "My…chest…" he gasped. His face contorted again, and then his eyes rolled up into his head. He fell over onto his side, flat on the ground. Hermione just stared for a moment._

"_Ron…?" she queried tentatively. There was no response. She reached out quickly, grabbed his limp arm, and tandem Apparated to the Auror clinic._

_He was taken immediately upon arrival away from her, and she was directed to a debriefing room in an adjacent building. She hated to leave Ron…but she couldn't disobey a direct order from her superior. She only had to wait two minutes before the door opened and Timothy White, the Head Auror for her division, stepped into the room. She stood from her seat to greet him._

"_Sit, please, Miss Granger," he said. She took her seat and he sat across from her. "Please explain what happened."_

"_Umm…" she started. She didn't really want to bring the personal argument Ron and her had up with her professional supervisor. "We were moving to the rendezvous point—"_

_Timothy cut her off. "You hadn't left yet? This isn't a combat injury?"_

_Hermione shook her head. She was surprised that he hadn't been informed. "No…he just collapsed. He was clutching at his chest." Something was nagging at the back of her head, but she dismissed it._

"_He's a little young for cardiac arrest," he muttered, and then opened Ron's file. Hermione watched him peruse the contents for a few moments._

_Timothy looked up suddenly. "He had a sister…that died of a heart condition?" he asked._

_Hermione's eyes widened. No…that couldn't be possible. Could it be? "Uh, yes, but he can't possibly have it. Males can only carry it."_

"_Indeed," Timothy said, and he excused himself. Hermione was left alone in the room, with only her increasingly worried and morbid thoughts to occupy herself. Was it possible?_

_It turned out that it was. She found out later that day—July 1st, 2002—that Ron had caused the activation of the gene that started the degeneration of his heart tissue. Ron had been unable to accept it, even at the end, and he had died an unhappy person. She was at his side when he took his last breath, but he never apologized or regretted anything he'd done. His bitterness—his inability to face his mistakes—was the cause of it._

_Hermione suffered a similar problem for many years after his death. Rather than her mistakes, though, she was unable to face the truth about herself, and her feelings. Every time she'd get close to accepting it, she'd berate herself for betraying the memory of Ron._

_Over time, though…she learned a crucial truth: she had to start living her life the way she wanted to if she didn't want to end up like Ron. She didn't want to wallow in bitterness and depreciation for the rest of her life, so in May 2009—a little over six years after Ron had died—she decided to leave America. She decided to confront herself, her past, and her true feelings. She went home—home to England…home to Hogwarts…and home to Harry._

----------

_Clink… Clink… Clink…_was the sound Hermione woke to. Her eyelids fluttered open, and then immediately shut again as the bright sun threatened to blind her. _Clink… Clink… Clink…_came the sound. She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes and stretching her sedentary muscles; she arched her back, thrusting her bikini-clad chest into the air. The sound faltered for a second, and then resumed it's steady _clink_.

She opened her eyes fully and looked around. At first she didn't see anything, but when she turned completely, she saw that Harry was sitting at the table, tapping the point of the blade against the tiles of the veranda. He was regarding her with a keen gaze.

"Have a nice nap?" he asked. His voice was soft and warm; it was then that Hermione saw what he was wearing, which wasn't much at all. He certainly liked to work out in those confounded short shorts.

"Err…yeah. What time is it?" she asked, a little disoriented. She hadn't really meant to fall asleep.

Harry looked at his wrist, which was the first time in several minutes…or maybe even an hour…that he'd looked away from Hermione. She had looked so peaceful, lying there, asleep in the sun. Of course, she'd been in a wonderfully—or maybe, cursedly?—skimpy bikini, and his eyes had naturally been drawn to the slow rise and fall of her chest…

"Harry?" Hermione called. He had looked at his watch, but had remained staring at it, not answering her question.

He shook himself. It was remarkable how easily Hermione distracted him. He checked the time once again, because he'd already forgotten it, and looked back at her. She had an inquisitive smirk on her face; her lips were curved up at one corner slightly.

"Uh…it's almost one o'clock," he finally enunciated.

Hermione was slightly shocked. She definitely hadn't meant to sleep for three hours. She looked down, and mentally berated herself. She would be burned later. That's what she got for falling asleep in the sun; perhaps she could have done that after a week or two, but not on her first exposure.

"Ugh…" she half-moaned, and stood.

"There a problem?" Harry asked, as he watched her grimace and stand. Merlin…she was killing him in that goddamn bathing suit. It was then that, through randomly firing neurons in his brain, he realized that he hadn't been with someone in a _very_ long time. He felt his face redden at the thought, especially because Hermione had seemed to trigger it. He had never really looked at her that way when he was younger, so why should he be now?

Hermione watched as Harry's face took on some color briefly before answering. "Not really…I'm just the stupid one who's going to be sunburned later on." She stretched again, working the kinks from lying on the stones out of her muscles.

Harry almost rolled his eyes at her stretching. It was almost as if she was doing it to torture him. Didn't she know what it did to him?

"Sleep well last night?" he asked.

"As a matter of fact, yes I did," she replied, and thought wistfully of that oh-so-soft bed, with those silky-satiny sheets. "The beds here are very comfortable," she said, and laughed at the ridiculousness of her statement. Of course they were…beds were supposed to be.

Her laugh was like music to his ears. He hadn't heard that genuine, breathy, musical laugh in so long…

"Well, they should be, considering everything here cost a fortune," Harry said. Money was no object to him, but even he was surprised at the cost of real estate on the shores of the Mediterranean. Hermione grabbed the towel from the stones and wrapped it around her waist…and Harry secretly mourned the loss of the view of her insanely alluring legs. He shook his head lightly as she moved to sit at the table. He really needed to stop thinking like that.

As Hermione sat down next to Harry, she saw him shake his head slightly. "What is it?" she asked.

Harry looked at her. "Hmm?"

"Why'd you shake your head?" she asked.

"Oh…well I was just thinking about something," was all he managed to say. He almost shook his head again, at his poor excuse for a cover, but managed to refrain from doing so.

"Care to tell me what about?" she asked, trying to keep her voice as innocent as possible.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, and his sword glinted in the sun, which actually saved him from having to explain.

"Actually, why don't you tell me why you have that crimson and gold sword?" She watched as he laid it across the table, hand still on the hilt, and turned to face her.

"What does the name 'Lucifer' mean to you, Hermione?" he asked her. And so he told her exactly what Dumbledore had told him, Helen, and Ginny so many years ago, almost verbatim.

Hermione was shocked at first, especially because it altered the very history of the Wizarding world and Hogwarts, but then realized that there were far more important things embedded in the knowledge.

It had taken Harry a half hour to tell the complete story, and he was quite hungry. He was about to get up to fetch them some food, when Hermione asked, "So you can manipulate magic?"

He paused, smiled at her, and said, "Just wait a minute. I'm gonna get us something to eat."

Hermione watched him stand and enter the villa, and then come back a minute or so later with some lunch for the both of them. He placed them on the table, next to his wand—it must have turned back into it when he let go of it—and sat down next to her once again.

"So…can you?" she reiterated her question.

"Yes…and no. It's incredibly…complex." He watched her arch an eyebrow at him. "I've found that a lot of what I can do in my ascended or altered state, or whatever you want to call it, is innate. It kind of just happens…it's instinctual."

Hermione thought back to the day they'd defeated Voldemort. He had been able to manipulate those Killing Curses, but at that time she'd assumed it had something to do with the blood protection.

"So when you stopped Voldemort, that was just your magical instincts taking over?"

"I guess…I don't know really. I haven't had much cause to prevent Killing Curses since then." Harry smiled peacefully. "I don't know about America, but Britain has been pretty serene since that day."

The word 'America' brought sudden and sharp recollections of the dream she'd been having; or rather, the memory that she'd been dreaming of.

Harry watched as her face clouded slightly. He put down his drink and looked into her eyes. He saw doubt, confusion…and something else there.

"Did you apprehend many dark wizards?" he asked, trying to continue the conversation. It was nice to just be able to sit there and talk.

"Err…" Hermione started. To talk about her job would most likely be to talk about Ron. "Not really," she finally just said.

"Oh? There weren't many, or you had tough assignments?" Harry didn't realize it, but he was pressing her on a subject she did not want to talk about.

"No…just, Ron made it difficult. That's all," she said, and she looked away from him. She stared out at the Sea, willing away the myriad feelings that were threatening to well up inside of her. Why was her life so goddamn confusing? Why couldn't she just be normal and happy?

"Oh," Harry intoned, and fell silent. Ron was not really someone he wanted to talk about, either, but he supposed if him and Hermione were ever going to be to get over their past they had to at some point. He laid a hand over hers, which caused her to look back at him.

"About Ron," he started, and slipped his fingers between hers, hoping to give her at least some comfort. "I know this is a difficult subject for you…but what happened?" When she didn't answer forthwith, he said, "I'm sorry that I don't understand, but as far as I knew, you and him were destined for marriage and a family."

Hermione closed her eyes and drew in a slow, deep breath. Harry had just touched upon something that she was hesitant to talk about, especially so directly, but it _was_ what she ultimately had come back to do. If she couldn't do it…here and now…then she probably would never be able to.

"At one time, Harry, we might have been," she said, slowly, and then was struck by the duality of that statement. Depending on whether emphasis was placed on 'we' or not, she could have either been referring to Harry or Ron. And judging by the way Harry was looking at her, she might have put that emphasis on it…

"Ron and I, from the very beginning, seemed to be suited for each other. It was almost…it was as if it was expected of us, you know?"

Harry nodded slowly. He had gotten that feeling sometimes, during their time as students at Hogwarts. But…as an adult, he could look back and honestly say that they were not meant for each other. Their personalities clashed too much; regardless of that old adage, that opposites attract, _polar_ opposites usually do not.

The thing that struck him, though, was that Hermione no longer seemed to be a polar opposite of Ron's personality. The time had mellowed her some…evened her out. It was obviously too late for Ron, but it was just a fleeting thought he had.

"And so…you two conformed to the opinion and entered into a relationship." She nodded at his words. "At the time, though…you really did love each other, didn't you?" he asked. He felt her grip tighten in his momentarily.

She didn't answer him right away, and dropped her eyes to inspect their hands. Finally, she said, "I think we _thought_ we loved each other."

"I just can't remember Ron ever being quite so self-destructive as he was in that last year you two were in Britain. Didn't it strike you as odd?" Harry asked. That was a question he'd been wanting to ask for a long time. He still saw the image of Hermione standing by as Ron criticized—and hit—Harry the night of his wedding.

"Yes, but…I was just so confused, Harry," she said. She could feel the emotions bubbling to the surface, but she wouldn't cry. Not this time; not again.

"I was torn…I was torn between what I _thought_ I should do and what I _wanted_ to do," she elaborated. She was actually going to say it…

Harry was confused. What exactly was she talking about? He absently noted that she was now gripping his hand like a vice.

"I'm not sure I follow you…" he said, and watched as Hermione turned completely in her chair to face him. Her speckled chocolate brown eyes were boring into his emerald ones.

"Do you know have any idea why I waited so long to come back, after he died?" she asked. Harry could hear a clear and intense purpose in her voice.

"No…I really have no idea."

"I needed the time, Harry. I needed the time to come to terms with my true feelings, and what I'd done."

"What you'd done?"

"Yes…what I'd done to you, and to Ginny…and," she added, "to Helen. It took a long time for me to see everything that I needed to see."

Harry searched her face for some kind of answer, some clue as to what she was talking about, but could find nothing.

"So you answered those questions, and that's why you're back?"

"Yes," she responded. She stood from her chair, with her hand still in his, and moved to his chair. She then did something completely unexpected: she sat in his lap.

Harry was so surprised he couldn't move, and he didn't stop her when she wrapped his arms around her and leaned back into his chest. Harry could smell the shampoo in her hair…and he closed his eyes against the emotions swelling up in his soul. This was…right.

"Hermione…" he managed, but fell silent when she spoke up again.

"I answered the question that I'd been trying to for years…ever since we were first years. I finally knew who my heart belonged to." Hermione felt a great weight lift from her shoulders, and her heart, and almost grinned at the sun. She could literally feel that Harry was beginning to understand, which wasn't altogether unwanted, and shifted slightly in his lap.

"It was you, Harry. It always has been," she said, and she turned twisted her upper body around. The look on his face was priceless…there was desire, compassion, and genuine affection rolled up into one warm and inviting gaze.

Harry could only stare at her face; she really was so beautiful. He was trying to force the physical reactions to her sitting in his lap away, but he realized that it was futile. She didn't seem to mind, even though it was a bit awkward, so he stopped trying to deny it. He realized she was leaning towards him…

Hermione grazed Harry's lips with her own, almost moaning at the silky smooth quality of them, and then leaned in fully to capture them in hers. It was a one-sided kiss at first, but Harry soon responded with gusto that she could only describe as exquisite. She turned her lower body in the chair, laying her legs over the armrest, and slung her arms around his neck.

Harry closed his eyes, feeling Hermione shift in his lap and put her arms around his neck, and lost himself in the wonder of her lips. When he felt the tip of her tongue press hesitantly on the inside of lips, he parted them slightly and allowed her entry. She turned her head to take full advantage of the access, and they were soon lost in a passionate and _long_ overdue kiss.

Harry didn't know how long it was—a few seconds, perhaps minutes, or maybe even several sunlit years—but he knew it was too short when she eventually pulled back.

Hermione stared into Harry's eyes; her lips were still tingling from the passion she had put into the kiss, which Harry had evidently reciprocated. Her heart was beating with the long awaited, and long denied, feeling of elation that was her love for Harry. She hoped he was feeling the same.

"Wow…" Harry breathed, and closed his eyes once again.

Hermione leaned her forehead against Harry's, closing her own eyes. They rested comfortably like that for a few moments, glowing from the warmth of the sun and each other's bodies.

"Harry…" Hermione started, but he brought a finger to her lips. She was tempted to start kissing it, but withheld from that impulse.

"No talking…not yet, at least," he said. "Let's just enjoy this," he added, softly, and withdrew his finger. She nodded slightly against his forehead, and didn't say another word.

----------

Helen hadn't heard or seen her father, or Hermione for that matter, in a few hours, and she was curious as to where they'd gotten. She raised the glass of cold pumpkin juice to her lips as she stepped out onto the veranda, and almost choked at what she saw.

Hermione was sitting sideways in her father's lap, with her legs draped over an arm of the chair they were in. She was wearing the same bikini as before, with a towel loosely wrapped around her waist, and Harry was still wearing only his shorts. Hermione's head was drooped onto his shoulder, with her arms around his neck; her father head's was lolled slightly back, and his arms were around her hips. They were both asleep.

The sight was totally unexpected. Helen had been prepared for a protracted reacquaintance between them, and was willing to work with Hermione and her father over her own hard feelings, but it seemed like they had gone and taken some sort of leap in a very short time. It didn't make sense to her, but she supposed that her resentment for Hermione clouded her judgment.

As she watched them sitting there, sleeping peacefully in each other's arm, she couldn't help the feeling of contentment that slowly stole over her. She hadn't seen her father look so satisfied, even in his sleep, for a long time, and she reasoned that Hermione had something to do with that. A little of the resentment faded, simply for what the older woman appeared to be doing for Harry, but that didn't mean she was ready to completely forgive Hermione; she might never be able to. Only time would tell…

As for how quickly things had happened…there must have been some feelings between the two of them already for this to happen so soon, because it certainly wasn't a platonic position that they were in. Helen didn't know, but judging by how Harry had been acting, taken in conjunction with this picture, she guessed that he'd had some long buried feelings for her…and Hermione for him.

Helen shook her head. Everything was so confusing. Why couldn't she just have a normal life? She shoved that thought away, though, because she was very happy with her life now. It may have started badly, but she couldn't ask for more than she had now—a loving father, magical and physical strength, intelligence, and beauty. There was only one thing she was missing…but she thought she might have found that, and she would know for sure when she returned to Britain.

She surveyed the scene for another moment, and then a devious smile crept over her face. She never had gotten her father back for Apparating her into the pool the other day…

Very carefully, so as to not disturb their position or their sleep, she levitated the chair Hermione and Harry were sitting in. She slowly inched it over the pool, so that it came to rest above the center of the water. She paused for a second, and then released the spell. They plunged into the pool.

There was much ado for a moment, including sputtering, some mild curses, and a shriek, but it soon settled down. When everything calmed, Helen was looking into the surprised and annoyed eyes of Harry and Hermione. She smiled sweetly at them.

"Yes?" Helen asked, coyly. Hermione raised her eyebrows and looked at Harry. He shrugged.

"I thought you two lovebirds had slept for long enough," she said, and watched with some bemusement as they both blushed. Blushes on the cheeks of almost-thirty year olds was pretty funny, if she did say so herself. It was almost like their parents had caught them doing something naughty.

Harry cleared his throat. "Yes, well…thank you for that…wet…wake-up," he said, and narrowed his eyes slightly at her. "You forgot, though, that I'm the most powerful wizard in the world."

Helen barely had time to process his words before she found herself in the pool, looking up at the smiling faces of Harry and Hermione. They were both dry.

Helen grimaced and Disapparated from the water. She stood on the deck, hands on hips, staring at them.

"Well?" she finally asked.

"Well what?" Harry responded.

Helen gestured to the chair that was still floating in the pool. She wasn't going to make this easy for them. "What was _that_ all about?"

Harry looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Hermione looked as if she couldn't believe Helen was asking that of them. Helen decided to address Hermione directly.

"I'm sure _you_ could explain, right?"

Hermione stood silent for a second. "Helen…I'm not sure we have to explain to you…" she trailed off at the murderous look on Helen's face. Oh…they had to explain, _especially_ Hermione, because she would not stand by and let things go awry again. She was happy for her father, if he was happy, but she wanted him to stay that way.

"What's the problem, Helen?" Harry asked.

"There is no problem—not specifically, at least. I'm just curious as to the state of things…"

Harry looked sideways at Hermione, who looked sideways at him. He looked back to Helen.

"Things are…complicated…at the moment," he answered. Hermione nodded slightly.

"Alright…well let me know when they are _un_complicated," Helen responded. She stared at the two of them for an instant more, cast a drying charm over herself, and walked back into the villa. She closed the door behind her.

----------

Harry watched his daughter stalk back into the villa with some remorse. He hadn't meant to be short or off with her, but things really were complicated. He couldn't explain what was going on just yet, because he really didn't know. He turned to Hermione.

"I guess we fell asleep…" he said, and faded away at her smirk.

"Yeah, I guess we did." Hermione suddenly grimaced. "Oooh…that's twice I've fallen asleep in the sun today," she said, and gingerly rubbed her stomach. Harry watched her hand caress the smooth skin above her navel. "Sunburn is going to be a problem later."

"Hermione…are we not magical?" he asked her, and watched as she widened her eyes in realization.

"Do you know a charm to stop it, Harry?" she asked. She looked mildly hopeful.

"Yeah, actually, I do."

"I didn't know there was one."

"No, neither did I, until I started coming here," he said, gesturing all around with his hand. "It's a problem at first, before you get used to the exposure here. I mentioned something about it to Dumbledore, and he knew of a charm to either prevent it or soothe it."

"What is it?"

"_Conservare bellam_," he said, and waved his hand over her body. Her face immediately relaxed.

"Ah…much better. Thanks," she said, smiling at him.

"No problem," he said, and then an awkward silence suddenly descended upon them.

Hermione averted her eyes toward the ground. "Yeah…so…" she said. She glanced back at Harry.

"Err…look, we're both adults. What just happened?" Harry asked her.

Hermione moved away from Harry toward the railing of the veranda. She placed her elbows on it and leaned over. Harry heard her sigh. He slowly came up behind her.

"Hermione?"

"Did it mean anything to you?" Her voice was very quiet.

"Yes…of course it did. I—" but he was struggling with what he wanted to say, with what he'd come to realize. He leaned on the railing next to her, glancing sideways. Her face was partially obscured by her hair. He reached up and tucked the errant curls behind her ear. She smiled slightly, but remained looking out over the beach.

Harry tried again. "I'll admit that I was reluctant about you coming back, at first." He paused, gauging her reaction, but there was none. "I think I had some sort of image of you built up over the years; one that was not who you really were."

"Who am I really?"

"You're Hermione Granger…smart, kind, compassionate…beautiful…" She tilted her head, so that she could look at him.

"What about stubborn, naïve, and blind?"

Harry almost laughed, but held it back. It would probably be misconstrued if he did so. "If you say so, but I think our harshest critics are ourselves."

"Then would it be harsh to say that I've been a fool for almost twenty years now?"

Harry thought he knew what she was hinting at. "I think so, yes. We were young…we had to deal with a war…suffering, sickness, death…I think we were all very confused for a long time."

Hermione seemed to take a deep breath. "I realized that I've always loved you, Harry," and turned her head to look at him fully. He felt a warm feeling spreading through his chest.

"And I think that a part of me has always loved you, Hermione," he responded. Her face softened a bit.

"What about…what about Ginny, though?" Harry could tell that she was waiting for some kind of negative reaction from him, but there wasn't going to be any. The hurt had faded long ago.

"That's hard for me to explain," he said. "I…Ginny was…easy for me." He grimaced at his words. "That sounds terrible, but I think that is the truth. I did love her, but I think part of it might have been because I was expected to…" he trailed off, unsure of whether or not he had explained it correctly.

Hermione chuckled lightly for a second. "Kind of like Ron and I…"

"You know, the irony is amazing," Harry said after a moment. He absently noted that the afternoon was waning.

"How so?"

Harry debated with himself for a short time over whether or not he should say what he wanted to, but decided that he had better, or it would sit with him for a long time.

"We both had what we really wanted in front of us for eight years, and when we finally realized it, we were thousands of miles apart." Hermione turned her body toward him; she was now facing him fully. He turned toward her.

"Do you really mean that?"

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't," he responded, simply.

"Oh, Harry…" she intoned, and leapt into an embrace with him. It was a familiar one—she was holding onto him tightly, almost as if she was making sure he was real. He could remember several similar hugs during their time at Hogwarts—they made a lot more sense now.

Hermione leaned her head back and met his lips in another searing kiss. They stayed like that for a little while, reveling in the closeness and the feel of each other's lips. Harry eventually pulled back, stepping out of the embrace. Hermione looked curiously at him.

"I think I've just realized something," he said. His eyes were drawn to a couple walking hand-in-hand along the beach.

"What?" she asked.

"Before…before you came back, I couldn't find a way to make amends with myself. I couldn't totally get over what happened. I was looking in all directions; all except the right one." Harry stopped for a second, and then brought his eyes back to Hermione's face.

"I know I chose the wrong way, but I was still getting over who I was. I wasn't happy with what I'd done, or the decisions I'd made, and I thought that burying it all would make it better.

"I know now, though, that it's not who you _were_, or even who you _are_, but it's who you _believe in_ who really guide you. And now…now I can see clearly which way I want to go. I remember the way I was, and how hard I fell, but that won't happen again." His eyes were boring into hers.

"You're the way I want to go, Hermione." Harry stepped forward and pressed his lips against hers, reigniting their passion from earlier.

----------

The rest of their time in Sicily moved by quickly. Harry and Hermione continued to dance around each other, kissing or hugging occasionally, but they were still somewhat shy about their feelings. They both knew what they wanted, but they were afraid to foul things up like they had been.

Helen, who was a casual witness to the slow coming together of her father and Hermione, felt the reluctance on their part, and that helped to lessen any hard feelings she had. She sensed that they were slightly hesitant, and she was glad that they weren't just rushing into things. It showed her that they were able to see that the world wasn't perfect, and that good things could end very quickly. The longer they took to flesh out their relationship and feelings, the better off they would be in the long run.

Hermione was greatly impressed by all that Harry and Helen could do, and vowed to get herself into better shape once they returned to Britain. She saw all that Harry could do, physically and magically, and there was awe; there was also jealousy, though. He had needed her when they were younger, but there was literally almost nothing he couldn't accomplish now. Helen was much the same way, and she and Hermione had a mild unspoken rivalry over who was sharper—Helen may have been the heir to Ravenclaw with vast wells of natural intellect, but Hermione's drive to succeed and be knowledgeable was a formidable opponent.

It never escalated beyond friendly competition, but Harry was secretly worried that whatever had been left unsaid between them would come out at some point, and that it wouldn't be pretty when it did. He tried to talk about it with Helen once or twice, as well as Hermione, but they both denied that there were still any ill feelings between them. Harry wasn't convinced, and resigned himself to watching, and waiting.

All in all, the six weeks in Sicily were as relaxing as they were confusing, and the three readied themselves for the return to Scotland with mixed emotions. They all loved the sun and the warmth, and the temporary escape from life the villa offered, but they knew they would have to get back to reality at some point.

On the morning of the 15th of August, Harry, Hermione, and Helen exited the villa from the front door. Harry hung back for a moment, casting strong locking and imperturbable charms over the house, and joined the girls.

"Do we have everything?" he asked.

"I wish we could bring the beach with us," Helen said.

"I'd like to bring the sun with us," Hermione said, and Harry's eyes were drawn to the change in her appearance. Her skin was a dark brown, and her hair had lightened to a dark blond. Hermione caught him staring, and shook her head, smirking at him.

"There's always next year," he said, and turned away for one last look at the villa. He loved it here, and he would miss it, as he did more and more every year. "Well…I'll see you both at Hogwarts." He Disapparated with a soft whisper of air, and Hermione and Helen soon followed.


	22. A Haunted Mind

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: For those of you who thought Harry and Hermione were moving a little fast… don't forget that Harry tends to rush into things. Language note: _puella cum magna vita _means 'girl with great life'. Enjoy (please review)!**

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Chapter 22: A Haunted Mind

_Harry exited the front doors of the castle, stopping a moment on the top step. His eyes roved restlessly around the grounds. It was a bright day, but there were many puffy clouds in the sky, creating a sparkle effect of sunlight and shadow across the grass. It was a surreal image, and it fit his mood perfectly. He slowly descended the steps and turned to the right, and started moving around the base of the castle._

_His steps were slow and measured, because he knew where he was going, but getting there was hard—not physically, but emotionally. Each foot forward was a conscious effort not to just give up and turn around, but he knew that he had to do this, as he did every year. It hadn't gotten any easier, which surprised him some, but he supposed that only extended periods of time could heal the deepest of wounds._

_His fists were clenched unconsciously, and he didn't even notice the slight prickle of pain that was coming from his right palm. The thorns of the pale pink rose he was holding were biting into his skin, but he did not realize it. As he turned around the corner of the one of the turrets, the path gradually became less and less apparent; it indicated that this was a route seldom traveled, by anyone. _

_He could see his destination in the distance, the small plot of land, but averted his eyes away from the gray stones. He would not look at it until he was upon it, because otherwise it felt like he was walking directly into the past. If he could wait until he had to look… well, he wouldn't have to confront what had happened too much._

_He walked into one of the shadows of a cloud, and a similar shadow passed over his mind. He did this every year because he knew he had to, but some part of him couldn't help but think it was unnecessarily morbid. He supposed it would be worse if he did it on Christmas, rather than on this day, but the thought offered little solace._

_After another minute of walking, he came to rest by a plaque that was set into the ground. It was a flat piece of stone, flush with the grass, with a few simple words written on it: _Speak softly amongst those passed to their next great adventure._ It was simple calligraphy, carved into simple marble, but it had a profound meaning._

_Harry stared at the words for as long as felt he could, and then willed his feet to move on beyond it. He still did not look up, though; his feet knew where to carry him. As he approached his destination, he could feel the beginnings of tears stinging at the back of his eyes. He wanted to reach up and force them away, because after all this time they shouldn't be coming anymore, but something told him not to. It would make it easier if he didn't._

_His feet, the grass, and the bottom of a stone encompassed his vision when he came to rest again. He took a deep breath, and raised his head. The first tear, almost as if on cue, slid from one of his eyes. The fist with the rose clenched tighter as he read the words that had been forever etched into his mind:_

_In Memoriam_

_Ginevra Weasley Potter_

_August 11, 1981 – December 25, 1998_

_puella cum magna vita_

_He stood, reading the lines over and over, until his vision blurred too much from the tears to be able to. Still he stood, though, staring at the waving lines. The sun passed from behind a cloud at that moment, and the light gray of the headstone was lit up with warmth that Harry did not feel._

_He went down on one knee, so that his face was close to the words inscribed there, and ran his hand slowly over the markings. His fingertips traced the dates, and he leaned his forehead against the top, above the first line. A tear dropped off his chin into the grass._

"_Hello, Gin," he said, and his voice choked. It took a second for him to regain his composure. His voice was hoarse when he continued._

"_I came out here to wish you a happy birthday," he said, and smiled through his pain. He sniffled once. "You would have been twenty-one today…we would have gone out into Muggle London and celebrated that coming of age."_

_Harry fell silent again. The only sound was the faint sigh of the breeze rustling the grass, and Harry absently listened to it for a little while. The tears were slowly going away. He leaned back and stood, still staring at the headstone._

"_I brought you your present," he said, and raised him arm to lay the rose on the rounded top of the stone. The petals fluttered lightly in the breeze. He brought his hand away after another pause._

"_I wish I could talk to you, Ginny. I wish you were still here," he said, staring at the rose. Then, though, he shook his head slowly. "I know I shouldn't do this to myself…but I can't help it."_

_He chuckled lightly to himself. "You would have told me it's fruitless to dwell on dreams, to rely on vagaries of perception."_

_Another silence descended. Harry turned halfway away from the stone. "I'll see you again…sometime." He turned away completely and began the lonely trek back to the entrance of the castle. He shoved his hands into his pockets as the sun passed behind another cloud._

----------

The shivering brought Harry back to the present. He rubbed is bare forearms, trying to warm them up, and cast a wary eye to the sky. For the middle of August, it was surprisingly chilly; it had been completely overcast since he'd gotten back to Hogwarts, which was only a few hours before.

He hadn't even realized it, but somehow he'd gotten from the main entrance of Hogwarts to that familiar plaque set in the ground. He stared at the words for only a brief second, and then raised his eyes and made his way into the small cemetery plot. A few more headstones had been placed since that day seven years before, but otherwise, it remained much the same as it had been, albeit overgrown a touch more.

He didn't look down to avoid eye contact with the headstone he was heading for, which was either a sign of him moving on, or perhaps something else. He focused on the words once he was close enough to read them, and they flitted over his brain like early morning mist would a river. He could recite them by memory, but their meaning had seemed to fade over time.

Time was a curious, in that respect. Give anything long enough…and the time seems to make it harder and harder to remember exactly how bad or good you felt. The memories…they all coalesced into a few key images or snippets of conversations, becoming little more than a personal scrapbook; one which quickly bore the yellow of age.

Time had served to lessen the impact of that horrible part of his life—those few months when absolutely everything went wrong—but it had made him forget exactly how it had felt and what it was like to crawl back out of that. He had been a stronger person when the constant reminder was there. It buffered him against the emotions raging against his internal dam, and slowly and surely, those waters calmed enough to be completely contained.

Contained was one thing, but forgotten was another, and as he knelt in front of Ginny's gravestone, he felt an inexplicable sense of betrayal…or perhaps a perceived disappointment on her part. That was impossible, of course, since he was looking at little more than a stone carved with some letters, but it represented her being to him.

As he laid the now ceremonial pale pink rose across the top of the stone, he realized that he didn't know what he was doing. He had come here today to honor her birthday, like he did every year, but it seemed like it meant less—or perhaps, more?—this year than it normally did.

Harry was twenty-nine years old. He held a coveted position at one of the most respected educational institutions—magical or Muggle—in the world, and he was Deputy to the most storied Headmaster in a millennium. He was also the most powerful wizard to ever walk the earth, to date; he could wield a 10-kilo sword with one hand like it was weightless; he could run 12 miles in under an hour. Harry could do all that, but he couldn't seem to get his life, his priorities, and what he _thought_ he wanted straight.

As he took his hand away from the stem of the rose, he shivered again, and a raindrop splattered near the petals. He looked sourly at the low-hanging clouds, hoping that the rain would hold off for at least a few more minutes. There were just times when he didn't feel like doing magic, no matter how beneficial it might be, and now was one of those times. Being raised a Muggle probably did that—Harry had met many magical people who couldn't understand what would ever prevent him from doing magic, especially something like a drying charm, or Apparition even, so he didn't even try to explain it anymore. Sometimes…sometimes it was just simpler not to.

Harry stood slowly. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. He eventually closed it again, and just stood still as the rain started to come down a little more quickly. The drops were fat and cold; it seemed like an intense cold front was moving through.

He looked down at the ground. "I know I'm a little late this year, Gin." He looked back up. "Sorry for that; it couldn't be helped, though. I was in Sicily…unwinding, I guess."

He absently toed the ground with his the tip of his shoe. "It's only four days…it's not like I forgot or anything."

Harry rolled his eyes. "What? What do you want me to say? I don't regret it. I don't…and I won't." The rain started in hard then, and Harry had to brush some wet locks out of his eyes.

"Gin…what do want from me? I have to move on sometime…" and it was then that Harry's internal dialogue came to a crashing halt. He realized that he was conversing with a stone, but more than that, he realized that he had moved on from the _pain_ long before, but not his feelings for Ginny.

Why else would he keep coming out here every year on—or around—her birthday, and sometimes on Christmas when he felt up to it? Why else did he feel the need to honor her memory with that rose, and why could he picture exactly how the words etched into the stone looked?

He knew why…and he had refused to see it before. But now, now he had gone and complicated things. He still wasn't exactly sure what was going on with Hermione, and if he'd even expressed what he really felt properly, but he was sure of one thing—his heart couldn't possibly hold that kind of love for two women. It would tear him apart, as it seemed like it was doing at this moment, to move along in a relationship with Hermione and be constantly reminded of how things had been with Ginny.

What he'd said to Hermione, that things had been easy with Ginny, was only partially true, and he'd seen that in the five weeks or so since. Yes, it had felt easy because they were almost expected to be together, but also because they _really were_ easy. Ginny and him meshed together very well, almost like they could read each other's thoughts, and they had had very few difficulties in their relationship, even when her death had been imminent.

With Hermione, though…there was just so much of her life that he had missed, and she had missed the same of his, that they were back to square one. They had both changed dramatically in the ten years they'd been apart, and it was almost as if they were meeting for that first time on the Hogwarts Express again. Only…this time, Hermione wasn't coming in and bossing him around; this time, Hermione and him were potentially romantically involved.

Harry jumped as the sound of thunder rumbled through the sky, and realized that he was now soaked through. He must have been standing there for some time—the rose was sopping wet, and was barely recognizable anymore.

He furrowed his brows, and little rivulets changed their course to run down and drip off his nose. What _was_ he doing? If he couldn't answer that question, did he have any business doing it? Could he do that to himself, or to Hermione?

Another rumble of thunder, much louder and more ominous this time, spurred him into motion, and turned and moved quickly back toward the castle. He didn't want to Apparate. The chilly rain was almost cleansing, in an ironic way, because it mirrored the way he felt at the moment. He felt cold, almost like he was drowning in his own confusion, and the rain was similar. If he wasn't careful, the deluge would eventually overwhelm him.

He took the steps three at a time, and was soon standing in the Entrance Hall, dripping water onto the stone floor. Resignedly, almost half-heartedly, he cast a drying charm over himself, and all of the water disappeared. He stood there, listening to the rain patter away on the castle, and decided that he had to talk with someone about it. He headed for the Grand Staircase.

----------

Dumbledore heard the door to his office open, and made for the exit of his private quarters. He wasn't really expecting anyone…unless it was Harry, Hermione, or Helen, as they had just arrived back in Britain earlier that day. He was curious to hear what Hermione had to say…and he wouldn't have to wait long, he saw, because she was the very person standing in his office.

She was just turning around to leave, assuming he wasn't there, when he came through the side door. She didn't see him and continued toward the office exit.

"Hermione, is there something I can do for you?" he asked, and she turned around. Dumbledore saw a weird look on her face—it almost seemed like triumph.

He took a seat at his desk as she did likewise in front of it, and waited for her to address whatever she wanted to talk about. He had actually expected her to return from Sicily shortly after she'd left, but when she didn't, he resigned himself to the fact that perhaps he had misread Harry and his feelings. Originally, he had thought that the wounds ran too deep for any kind of real consolation, but if she had been there for the entire time, which by the way she looked, she had been, it apparently had happened.

He was curious about the events that had lead to it, because he also knew that Helen resented Hermione, and that couldn't have faded so quickly. Helen was a fiery young woman, willing to protect those she loved—her father—with everything she had. Her mettle had only been truly tested once or twice, and each time Harry had been there to back her up. She didn't depend on him, exactly, but she did need him.

Dumbledore decided to get the ball rolling, since she wasn't saying anything. "Have you decided on what textbooks you want to use for this coming year, Hermione?"

"Yeah, actually, I was just looking over the textbooks from the last few years, and I don't really see any problems with them. No sense in making the students purchase new books if they don't need them."

"A good decision—and about your classroom?"

Hermione crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair. Dumbledore could almost feel the satisfaction she was exuding, not only by her pose but also by the ease with which she was speaking and how relaxed her face was. It certainly was a vast change from the Hermione that had left his office five weeks earlier.

"I don't know…it doesn't really matter. As long as it's not in the dungeons, anything is fine. Minerva's old classroom would do."

"Alright. I presume you came here to talk about more than just next year's arrangements?" he asked her.

She averted her eyes—it was very quick—but Dumbledore read more in that small movement than he had been able to in her entire visit as of yet. She was worried about something; it was weighing on her mind, even if it didn't outwardly appear like it was.

"No, you're right, there are a few more things I'd like to talk about."

"Well, don't be bashful," he prompted, and gave her a small smile of encouragement. She returned it with that same lazy satisfaction, or whatever it was, but her eyes betrayed her again. They were not relaxed.

"Well, it's about…you know, Harry," she said with some difficulty, as if she couldn't reconcile talking to him about matters such as these.

"What about him?"

"What did you think would happen when I left here, Albus? Be honest with me."

"Hermione…I'm not sure why you're asking this of me."

"I need to know this because I'm not sure about something. So, tell me, please."

"Alright," Dumbledore drawled, prolonging the moment in order to find the appropriate words. "I wasn't expecting much. That's about as honest as I can be. You and Harry have a checkered past. At one point, you two shared the quintessential platonic friendship between a young man and lady, but at another, you were furthest from that."

"What did you think would _happen_?" she clarified.

Dumbledore made a helpless motion with his hand. He couldn't say exactly what he thought would have happened because he didn't know. It wasn't that easy.

"I'm not sure, Hermione. I don't know what you want me to tell you. I was reluctant to tell you where he was, because I thought it might have been detrimental to both of you. Do you find that is the case?"

"Detrimental? No. Confusing? Yes," she said, and sunk deeper into the chair. That same contentment was still stretched across her whole demeanor, which was contrasted with the tone of the conversation so far.

"Hermione…maybe it would help if you told me exactly what went on?" he asked, and noticed she immediately blushed at his words. That blush, on the face of a twenty-nine year old, told him more than any amount of words could.

Hermione cleared her throat and sat up a little. "Well…sparing the details…Harry and I reached an 'understanding', if you will."

"I think I get your meaning," he said, and he was very surprised. He was surprised that Harry had been able to get past the memory of Ginny. "What is so confusing about that?"

"Helen, for one," she said, simply. He nodded. He had anticipated that. He would have been even more surprised if Helen hadn't been difficult than he was at hearing about Hermione and Harry.

"Have you talked to her at all, Hermione?"

"I've tried to, and yes we have, but everything we talk about is pretty shallow…it's like we _can't_ talk about what's really bothering us—except the first day I came back; we could then."

"What's changed since then? Surely you two are still the same people."

He noticed her forehead crease a little, which was the first sign, beside her eyes, that there were things bothering her.

"Yes, we are…I don't think it was us, exactly, that has changed. More…the dynamic of the relationship between Harry and I."

"And hence," Dumbledore continued her line of thought, "Harry and Helen." He watched as the crease deepened.

"Do you think that's why she won't talk to me? She thinks I've affected their relationship in some way?"

Dumbledore fought the urge to roll his eyes at her. She was falling into the same trap that she had before—she was seeing everyone else's problems, but not her own. She had to learn to think outside of the box, and to think for herself a little more, especially when it came to more personal and emotional matters, rather than intellectual ones.

"Haven't you, though? And _didn't_ you?" He watched her forehead crease again, but this time in confusion. "What I mean is," he added, "that you _did_ affect their relationship, before. So…of course Helen thinks you will again."

"But I haven't!" she protested.

Dumbledore shrugged. "Hermione, I have no idea what specifically went on in Sicily, but I can imagine that if something did happen between you and Harry, it caused him to spend less time with his daughter and more with you."

She seemed to get angry at that statement. "Shouldn't he, though? She can't keep him wrapped around her finger for the rest of her life…she's an adult, now. She has to branch out on her own sometime. Harry needs to find something to love in life…" she trailed off, blushing at what she'd said.

"But he has, Hermione. He loves Helen—"

"—but she—"

"—and Ginny, too," he finished, overriding her interruption. Her mouth closed with an audible click of teeth hitting teeth.

"He needs to move on sometime, Albus," she said after a moment.

"Of course he does, and he has, as far as anyone can tell. That's not the point, Hermione, and I'm surprised that you don't see what I'm trying to say here."

"Then, please, elaborate," she said, waving her hand for him to continue.

He was tempted to pinch the bridge of his nose, to alleviate the strain he could feel building there, but he didn't want Hermione to think he was annoyed with her, because he wasn't. He just didn't understand how shortsighted young people could be. Perhaps it was the sixteen decades he'd lived, but he knew that with time, things usually bettered themselves. Also with time, those that drifted apart tended to forget each other, but that wasn't the case with Hermione and Harry. It seemed to be the opposite, really. It appeared as if there had always been something brewing there…

"He's afraid of change. He has not been overtly romantically involved with anyone since Ginny died, and he has had very few real friends since you and Mr. Weasley left. Things have been getting better since then, and they continued to do so; as more time passed, and he didn't change, the better they got. He's afraid of that being taken away—he's afraid to be the way he was." Dumbledore looked over his glasses at her. "As you should be."

"What?" she asked, sneering minutely.

"The three of you were so self-destructive that you couldn't see what was happening. You should be careful to make sure that does not happen again."

"It won't. No, it can't. We're not the same people."

"Ah yes, you are correct, but as people change, so do circumstances. Look, you don't have to take my advice on it, but I've lived for a very long time, Hermione. I've witnessed people do stupid things…pointless things, really, and then not be able explain why or how it happened afterward."

"Is that what you think, Albus? Harry and I can't explain what happened?"

Dumbledore lifted his hand slightly as if to say _I do not have all the answers_. "I have no idea if you can or not. That is between you and him. I'm simply saying that to make a mistake once is understandable, but to do so twice is just foolish. You're both smarter than that—if you talk about your problems and doubts _openly_, things should work out in the end."

"I…I don't know exactly why I came here today. But, I think I can see why now. Uh…thanks, Albus."

"No thanks needed," he said.

Hermione stood, nodded, to him, and turned to go. Halfway to the door, though, it opened, and in strolled Harry. His face was drawn and his eyes went immediately to Hermione when he came through the door. Dumbledore was surprised to see a slight grimace on his face, especially after the conversation he'd just had; Hermione must not have noticed, however, because she went up to him and said something quietly.

Dumbledore noted Harry's rigid posture and the lack of contact between the two, and he especially keyed in on the fact that Harry turned his head when Hermione tried to peck him on the lips, so it landed on his cheek. He couldn't see her face, but he could tell she was scrutinizing Harry closely. She soon walked past him and out of the office. Harry closed the door and moved to sit in front of the desk.

"My door is revolving today, it seems," he addressed Harry, with a smile. Harry did not return it.

"So it appears," he said.

"How was Sicily, Harry?"

"Warm…sunny…sandy…you know, the usual. I enjoy it more every year, especially when I come back to this kind of weather," he said, motioning toward the window, which showed the rain in all its glory.

"Yes, this weather is most unusual for August. I would expect this of October…but what can you do? It will pass soon—it's been like this for a week already."

"Really? Hmm…" Harry said. "Well…anyways, Sicily was good, except…I'm not sure what happened there."

Dumbledore glanced at the door. It really was revolving today. "How so?"

"Well, since Hermione was just in here, I'm sure you have at least some idea of what I'm talking about," Harry said, with a resigned sigh.

"Perhaps…but I think it would be better to hear it from you yourself."

"It's…why do things you think you've gotten over come back up years later? Why can't you get past them?" Harry leaned forward, placing his elbows on his thighs, and his chin in his hands.

"Harry…do you remember what I told you about my wife?" Harry nodded slowly. "In cases like that…like with Ginny…it may not be possible to ever be completely _over_ what happened. I know that I will carry that image with me the rest of my life, however long that may be.

"I've accepted it, however. I know that I _should_ have done things differently, and I learned from my mistakes. I don't think I've ever been arrogant, at least consciously, since that day. I think that's what you need to do…_learn_ from what happened. Don't make the same errors twice."

Harry considered his words for a moment, dropping his eyes to the floor. Dumbledore could see the muscles working in his jaw. Harry looked back up at him.

"I have…and that's the problem. I have learned from what happened. I learned that sometimes, no matter how much you care or how much you try, bad things can inevitably happen."

"That's a fairly fatalistic view of things, Harry."

"It's the truth, Albus. Do you think I wanted what happened to happen? Do you think I wanted to watch my wife slowly die? Was I sitting there cheering Ron and Hermione on when they ostracized me?"

"I think you're forgetting something, Harry," Dumbledore said, carefully. "There was ample time to try to fix things."

"Yeah…no, you're right; I know there was. It was the apathy that did me in. That's not what I meant…I was saying that sometimes things just seem to go beyond control. Even if I had intervened at the very beginning, would it have changed anything? Ginny still would have gotten sick; Ron probably still would have blamed me, because apparently that had been festering since Bellatrix killed Arthur and Molly…Hermione would have followed him again. Would the outcome have been any different?"

"I seem to remember a discussion we had long ago, Harry, that I think you may be hitting on."

"Oh?"

"Do you believe in Fate?" Dumbledore asked.

"Err…not really," Harry answered.

"So…that outcome you were talking about, if there's no such thing as Fate, wouldn't the smallest of alternate choices have affected it? If Fate doesn't exist, then there's no reason why that should have ended the same way."

"I think I remember talking about this…and I remember you saying that our choices determine our fate," Harry responded.

"Ah, but Harry, you are confusing _Fate_ with fate, which is merely the direction your life proceeds in. Fate, in the classical sense, suggests predestination—your path is set before you."

"Well, then this is exactly what I'm talking about!" Harry said, with sudden vehemence. "My path _isn't_ set before me, and sometimes I think it would be easier if it was. I…I went out to Ginny's grave today, and I realized that I have no idea what I'm doing anymore."

"As in?" Dumbledore queried.

"Like…what have I accomplished in the past ten years? What have I done to better myself, or change my situation? I'm still Harry bloody Potter…I still work at Hogwarts, and I'm still single."

"You know…I told Hermione that she has to start thinking outside of the box, and I think that you may have to as well. You've accomplished more than you could ever know, Harry.

"You've become far and away the most skilled and powerful wizard in history; you've made headway in new areas of magic that were purely theoretical or even imaginative ten years ago. You have your health, and your sanity.

"You've touched the lives of hundreds of students with your kindness, openness, and wit, and you have passed onto them your knowledge of defense. You've ensured, or at least helped, their safety from threat.

"And what's wrong with being Harry Potter? You aren't some martyr—you're not dead, are you? You're a hero, Harry, whether you like or not, and although people respect you for what you _did_, they respect you more for your humbleness. You're quick to pass the recognition onto those who you feel are more deserving, when in reality it was in fact _you_ who stopped Voldemort.

"You also have a beautiful, brilliant, and driven daughter, who loves you very much, and looks up to you not only as a father, but as a teacher, a role model, and a brother. If you hadn't entered her life…who knows what would have become of her? Certainly nothing good.

"So," Dumbledore took a breath, "before you so quickly announce that you've accomplished nothing, look at it from someone else's perspective. Whether you believe it or not, Harry, you've changed the world we all live in, and for the better."

Neither man said anything for a moment; Harry inhaling slowly and deeply then broke the silence. Dumbledore met the emerald eyes with his blue gaze.

"Alright…I'm sorry…I said that without really thinking." Harry snorted to himself, as if he'd found what he said funny.

"What?" Dumbledore asked.

"Oh, nothing…I guess I tend to do a lot of things without really thinking," he said, and voice became quite serious by the end.

"Like…" Dumbledore prompted.

"…like Hermione and I," Harry finished for him, and dropped his eyes to the floor.

"Since you…well, since you both brought it up, I feel comfortable talking to you about what Hermione said. You both seem to have doubts; or rather, she seems to worry that you have doubts. I don't think she herself had any."

"She's right to worry…because I do."

"If you don't mind me asking, why?" Dumbledore pushed.

"I said something to her, while we were in Sicily, that seemed to make sense at the time…but when I was out there today, standing in the rain at Ginny's gravestone…I couldn't understand where it came from.

"I said that being with Ginny was easy." Harry scowled. "In some respects, it's true. We were easy together. I don't like what I was implying, though. I think I was implying that I was with Ginny because it was easier than being with Hermione, for everyone."

"Why don't you like that?" Dumbledore kept asking the questions, and Harry kept answering them. He was finally getting the young man to talk, and he wasn't going to try and stop him.

"Because it trivializes what I had with Ginny! That family we built…her, Helen, and I…that wasn't easy! That was _real_. I _loved_ Ginny, I was truly happy when I was with her." Harry passed the back of his hand over his face, wiping an errant and seemingly annoying tear away from his eyes.

"Yes, you were, and anyone could see that. I think it goes back to what we were talking about, Harry." Harry raised an eyebrow. "Your choices set your path before you; making choices is an innate and instinctual part of human nature—it's what makes us human. We have the power to consciously choose where we want to go and what we want to do…or whom we want to be with."

"I never consciously _chose_, though! I didn't even know that I felt anything for Hermione like that!" Harry demanded.

"Didn't know…or _wouldn't accept it_?" Dumbledore came back.

"Damn it, I just don't know…that's why this is so hard. I feel like…I feel like I'd be betraying the memory of Ginny if I did anything."

"Would you feel that way if you had a relationship with _Hermione_, or with anyone?"

Dumbledore could see the wheels in Harry's brain working, and presumed he was thinking over the few failed relationships he'd had since Ginny's death. Yes…Dumbledore was at least aware of them. Very little went on in Hogwarts that he did not know about.

Harry sighed again, and dropped his head tiredly. "With anyone, I guess." He sounded very acquiescent. "That's probably why none of them have worked out."

"And what do you think Ginny would have said to that?"

Dumbledore caught the small, humorous smile that broke across his lips. "She would probably tell me not to be so thick," he said, and then looked back up at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore nodded. "The disappointment doesn't lie with Ginny, Harry…it lies with you. You perceive some sort of regret on her part, when that's not possible. She's moved on…you have the right to choose to move on with your own life."

"But…" Harry started.

"But," Dumbledore interrupted, "that doesn't mean you should forget all that's happened. As I told Hermione, only a fool makes the same mistakes twice. Don't stop living, but don't forget."

Harry put his face in hands and clenched his hair rather violently in his fists. Dumbledore heard him sniff. His voice came muffled and slightly raspy when he spoke again.

"I just can't get the image of Ginny sitting in the armchair in my suite with Helen in arms out of my head. They were both sleeping…it was what I wanted." Harry sniffed again, and raised his head. There were no tears, but his eyes were shining.

"And a 'happily ever after' was what I wanted with _my_ wife, Harry. Sadly, though…it didn't happen. It took a long time, but I moved on, and so will you. It just has to be proved to you that you're ready…and Hermione might be the person to do that."

"Aren't you kind of practicing a double standard, though? If you moved on…why did you never remarry, or anything like that?"

"Harry…I was nearly 100 when my wife was killed…I was well past my prime. I didn't need another relationship like that. You, on the other hand…you're not even thirty yet. If you live to be as old as me, you still have a _hundred and thirty_ years left. That's a long time to be alone."

"Alright, alright…I think I just need to cool it for a little while, and figure out what I want to do. There's no question that Hermione and I have something, but I'm not sure what it is at the moment." He stood to go.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, catching his attention. "Please, just remember one thing."

"Mm?" Harry intoned.

"Don't push people away; don't close yourself off. Come to me, go to Helen, or Hermione—_especially_ her—if you want to talk."

"Yeah," he said, and turned away. "Thanks, Albus," he added, and the Headmaster was once again alone.

----------

Harry tried to clear his head as he descended through the castle. Dumbledore had put a lot on his plate, and it would take him days to digest it all. The last thing he needed at the moment was to see Hermione, because he didn't know how he would act around her. He decided to try to avoid her for a little, and set himself on the path to Helen's new suite. It had been given to her because she was now a Professor, and Harry was curious how similar it was to his and other's he had seen.

He cupped his hands in front of his face and blew on them—something he'd never had to do in August before—to get the blood flowing, and quickened his pace. As he rounded the corner of the hallway where her suite was, he heard amused laughter. It grew louder, and then Helen came out through one of the portraits…but she wasn't alone.

It took a second for Harry to figure out who it was, but then it occurred to him that it was Paul, who had been a longtime friend of his daughter while she was at Hogwarts. He was fairly tall, around six feet or perhaps a little more, and had wavy, dirty blond hair. He was good looking and well built, and talked and moved with a natural grace.

Harry narrowed his eyes for a second, as only a father can, when he noticed that Helen's arm was intertwined with Paul's, and that she was leaning on him somewhat. They hadn't seen him yet, and something told him to hang back in the shadows of one of the corners. He watched as they walked toward him, talking jovially and laughing about something. Paul turned his head and left a kiss on Helen's forehead, and they turned down a corridor that led to the stairs.

Harry stood there for a moment, taking it all in, before he moved to follow them. He wasn't sure what to make of it—nothing had indicated to him that Helen had ever been interested in the boy. It's not like he really had a problem with it, but he wanted to make sure that she was doing what was right for her, and that she was careful about…things.

He stood at the first floor landing, watching as Helen said goodbye to Paul at the door to the castle. They talked for a moment longer, and then Paul leaned in to kiss her on the lips. Harry averted his eyes, uncomfortable with watching the passion that was clearly there, and it wasn't until he heard the door close that he looked back. Helen was slowly ascending the stairs, looking off into space, with a slight smile playing on her lips.

Harry cleared his throat, and she immediately stopped and looked up at him. He crossed his arms, trying to show his…displeasure…in his posture.

"Oh, hey Dad," she said, and continued up the stairs. She was about to move past him, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Hey yourself," he said, and turned to her. "So…what's going on?"

She gave him a funny look. "Uh…what?"

"What was that, just now?"

She narrowed her eyes. "How long were you standing here for?"

"Long enough," he said, and he noticed a slight flash in her eyes, denoting anger.

"Whatever," she shrugged, and continued walking past him. He stood there for a moment, confused at her sudden coldness, and then followed her.

"Helen, wait."

She stopped, but did not turn. Her straight brown hair swung lightly with the momentum. He came to stand beside her again.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"I'd appreciate it if I had a _little_ privacy every now and then." She looked at him. "I'm a big girl, Dad. I can take care of myself."

Harry held up his hands in a defensive posture. "Whoa, whoa…I never said you couldn't. I'm just…I worry about you a little, all right? I just want you to be careful."

"Aren't I always?" she demanded.

Harry placed his hands on her shoulders. "Helen…don't get so defensive. I'm your father—it's my job to worry sometimes."

Her face seemed to soften slightly. "I know…I need to get on with my life, though. I won't always be your little girl, Dad."

The words struck Harry like a physical blow, but he did not outwardly show that he was affected. "I know that," he answered, quietly.

"We'll always be there for each other," she added, "but I'm an adult now. I can make my own decisions."

Harry nodded his assent. "Just…don't rush into things. At least not like I do."

"What do you mean? Who said I was rushing into things?" she asked.

"No one…you and Paul did look a little cozy, though," he said, and then immediately knew he might have said too much. She shrugged his hands off her shoulders.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she raised her voice to ask.

"Nothing, Helen—"

"No! Are you…do you _think_ that Paul and I are _doing_ anything?"

Harry backed up one step. Helen's wrath was not something he really wanted to incur; besides, he didn't know where it had come from so suddenly.

"I—"

She cut him off again, though. "And even if we _were_, that's really none of your business!"

Now, wait just a minute… "Helen…I'm not really sure that it isn't at least my business to make sure that you're taking care of yourself."

She threw up her hands in consternation. "So you think I can't? I can't look out for my own well-being?"

"No, damn it! That's not what I'm saying. All that I mean is that I was young once, and I know how confusing things can be…just make sure it's what you want, all right?"

"Well, thank _you_ very much, but like I said, I know what I want and I can take care of myself," she yelled at him, but there was a slight, almost indistinguishable waver in her voice toward the end. Before Harry had a chance to speak again, though, she had whirled and was walking quickly away from him. He stood there, very bewildered. He hadn't meant to upset her, or cause her to get angry, but apparently something about the subject they had been talking about had.

His thoughts were cut off, though, because just then Hermione came from the corner that Helen had disappeared around. She was looking behind her, with perplexity showing on her face. When she noticed Harry standing there, she directed it toward him. Harry stood there, resigned to whatever was coming. It seemed like today he couldn't catch a break. He was tempted to just Apparate to his bed, but he didn't. That would be rude, not to mention inappropriate, and he was more mature than that.

"What's wrong with Helen?" Hermione asked, once she'd come to stand by him.

Harry shrugged. "I don't really know…"

"Were you just talking to her?"

"Yeah, I was," he answered.

"Oh…well she was crying, when I passed her," Hermione said.

Harry pursed his lips. He felt like a complete ass now, not only because he had made her do that, but also because he wasn't exactly sure what had offended her so much.

"I…oh," he finally just said.

Hermione looked closely at him. "What were you two talking about?" she asked.

"I don't know if I really want to talk about it right now, Mione," he said, and started to walk past her.

"If you're going to call me that, Harry, you can't just walk away," she said, with quiet determination in her voice. Harry hung his head for a moment.

"Look, I'm sorry…I just need some time," he said.

Hermione moved up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Time for what?"

"For a lot of things," he said. His face was turned away from her, and she reached up with her other hand, turning it toward her. He saw compassion in her eyes.

"What were you and Helen talking about?" she asked again. He eventually just decided to tell her. It's not like it could hurt anything.

"We had a bit of an argument about…well, it was about her boyfriend, I guess, but it was really about sex," he said.

Something like understanding came into her eyes. "What did you say? That she can't have it?"

"No!" Harry said. "I wouldn't do that. I just said that she should be smart about it…you know, not move too fast." Hermione's eyebrows furrowed at the end of his statement, but it was only a passing look.

"So she doesn't like you meddling?"

"She's never had a problem with my 'meddling', as you call it, before. I'm not sure why she got so upset this time…"

They both fell silent. Harry was trying to figure out exactly what he'd said, and he presumed that Hermione was working something out in her head.

"You know, Harry…did you ever think that this could have something to do with what happened to her?"

Harry's eyes widened. How could he have forgotten that? Of course…he was so stupid! It was a sore subject with her because she probably still felt insecure about it, because of what happened…and she felt like she had no one to turn to. Granted, Harry might not have been the best person to talk about her deeply personal issues with, but he was there for her if she needed it.

"No, that never occurred to me…but it should have. Do you think she's trying to compensate for that?"

"I'm not sure what you mean by 'compensate', but I think that experience may have something to do with it. She might be trying to prove something to herself."

"Yeah, that's what I meant," he said.

"Harry…do you want me to try and talk to her?" she asked. Harry looked at her. That might not be the best of ideas, especially considering whatever was between Helen and Hermione hadn't quite settled yet.

"I don't know, Mione."

"You think I shouldn't?"

"Do you think you and her are really ready for that yet?" he asked her, choosing to be blunt about it.

Hermione shrugged. "I think it will be good for both of us," she said.

Harry was silent for a few more seconds. He wasn't sure that he wanted her to go to Helen, and possibly make things worse, but he didn't think that Helen would want to see him just now. He finally just nodded.

"Alright, I guess it can't hurt too much."

"Ok," she said, and leaned in to kiss him. Harry turned his head slightly, so that the kiss landed half on the corner of his lips and half on his cheek.

"That's the second time you've done that today, Harry!" she said, putting her hands on her hips.

Harry looked at the floor. "I know…"

"What's wrong with me?" she demanded.

His eyes snapped back hers. "Nothing, Mione! It's me, ok? I just need some time to think about things…is that alright with you?"

"Why the sudden change of heart?" she asked, softer.

Harry shook his head. "Don't take it like that, please. You know that is not what I meant. Just give me a little while to sort out myself…in Sicily, it was easy to get lost in the moment, but now that we're back here, with so much to remind us of what happened, it's a little harder."

"Do you regret it, Harry?"

Were all women so stubborn and hopeless? "_Hermione_, I said don't take it like that. I promise you…what I said in Sicily is still true."

She hesitated, and then said, "Alright…well, I'll go see about Helen."

Harry nodded. "I'll see you later?" Hermione inclined her head, squeezed Harry's shoulder once, and then turned in the direction she had come from. After her footfalls had faded, the only thing Harry could hear was the staccato beat of the rain.

----------

Hermione stood outside of the portrait to Helen's suite with her fist poised to knock. She was worried that Harry was backing out of whatever was going on between them, but he had assured that he just needed some time and space. She was annoyed that he was being a touch hypocritical, because he was the one who'd said that dwelling on the past was something they shouldn't do, but she wasn't altogether that upset. As long as he was able to open up eventually, she could wait for him to sort out whatever the problem was. She took a deep breath, readying herself, and rapped her knuckles against the painting.

No sound came at first, and she began to question whether or not Helen was in fact there, but she then heard a muffled, "Who is it?"

"It's Hermione, Helen," she called out clearly. Helen didn't respond right away, and Hermione began to worry that Helen would just ignore her. The portrait began to slide away, though, and Helen was standing there, looking at her.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Uh…can we talk?" Hermione asked. She was hoping that Helen would at least let her into the suite.

Helen sighed and stepped aside. "I suppose…come in and sit down." The suite looked much like Harry's did, except that the orientation was reversed. Hermione chose a comfortable chair; Helen sat opposite her on the couch.

"So, how are things?" Hermione asked.

Helen rolled her eyes. "Oh, they're wonderful…enough of the formalities, please. Why are you really here?"

Hermione did have to admire the directness with which Helen approached most things. She certainly didn't beat around the bush.

"Harry's worried about you, Helen."

"So he sent you to check up on me?" she asked. There was an uncharacteristic sneer in her voice.

"No…no, he didn't. I asked him if I could come talk to you."

"About what?"

"About what's bothering you, Helen."

"So you're now the expert on all things Helen?"

Hermione sighed. "No, look, you have to work with me a little bit here. You can't just assume that everyone is out to get you, you know."

"Well, excuse me if I think I know what's best for myself!"

"Do you?" Hermione queried. "Do you really? Or are you just blinding yourself to the fact that you're scared and confused?"

"Scared and confused?" Helen's face was growing a little red. "How can you presume to know how and what I'm feeling? You don't know anything about me! You've only been back for six weeks," she yelled. "And already, you've got your claws into Harry!"

"Whoa, wait a minute…this is _not_ about Harry and I, Helen…this is about _you_. And you're right, I may not know much about you, but I do know one thing."

"Oh? And what is that?" Helen asked, sarcastically.

"You have horrors in your past that few can imagine."

Helen's eyes narrowed. "What…how do you know about my past?"

Hermione didn't say a word for a moment. Had Harry never told her that he'd shown the memory of the night of the Orphanage to herself, Ron, and Ginny? If not…then that would complicate things.

"Did _Harry_ tell you what happened?" she asked, as if she was unable to believe her father would do such a thing.

"Yes—"

"WHAT!"

"—but," Hermione went on, "not recently. It was when you first came to Hogwarts."

"And that's supposed to make it better?" she asked. Her voice was cold and unrelenting. Hermione had to set things straight—she didn't need to be the one to turn Helen against Harry. That would not be good, for anyone.

"Helen…it was more my doing, than his." She thought back to that day, and hazily remembered demanding to know why Harry would do such a thing as become her guardian. "I couldn't understand why you were with Harry, so he did the only thing he thought he could to make me understand. He used his Pensieve."

Helen seemed to deflate a little. "Oh…why are we even talking about this? It's really none of your business."

"I'm just trying to help," Hermione answered.

"Well, I don't think I need your help."

"Helen, you can't deny that what happened is affecting you."

"YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT IT!" Helen suddenly yelled, and stood. She began to pace around the room.

"I know that it's still bothering you," Hermione said, calmly. Helen mumbled something under her breath. "What?"

"I said," she ground out, "that it would still be bothering you, too,"

"I'm not saying that it wouldn't be, but it doesn't hurt to talk to people about it."

Helen stopped her pacing and looked like she was about to say something, but ultimately shook her head. "I can't have this conversation with you, Hermione, not right now. I think it would just be best if you left me alone."

"Are you sure—"

"Yes," Helen cut her off, "I'm sure. Go…go do whatever it is you've been doing with my Dad," she said, with sarcastic contempt coloring her voice.

Hermione rose slowly from the chair. "Someday, Helen, we're going to have to get past our differences. We'll be working with each other, after all."

"It's not going to be today," Helen said, and turned her back. Hermione stared at her for a moment, and then turned to leave. That hadn't exactly gone as well as she'd wanted it to. She stood for a moment in the empty corridor, and then made her way to her classroom. She had some work she had to get done.


	23. The Triumvirate

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: Several readers have brought to my attention that Part 2 is boring. I have two things to say to that: the first is that this story is primarily about life itself, rather than any sort of huge, explicit conflict; the second is that I believe it's more interesting to explore the characters' psyches and find out what makes them tick, and then put them into extraordinary situations. There are many other fanfictions out there with far more action, sex, violence, etc., and if that's what you're looking for, then mine probably isn't the one for you. Just thought I'd put that out there. Enjoy and please review!**

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Chapter 23: The Triumvirate

Helen awoke groggy and confused the next day, and the strain she had felt throughout the previous one descended back upon her quickly. She groaned as she sat up, and rubbed her temples wearily. She took a hair tie off her nightstand and pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail, and changed from her sleepwear into a workout outfit. She had a lot of things on her mind, not the least of which was whether or not she should be mad at her father, and she decided that a little physical exertion might help smooth out her jumbled thought processes. She stood, glancing out of the window, and slipped on her worn trainers—she would need new ones soon. Her eyes lingered on the window, and a slight frown crossed her face, more than was already there.

It was still raining slightly, and those same low hanging, gray, annoying clouds covered the whole of the sky. She could see as far as the horizon from her vantage point, and she could not see any breaks in them. It was so much easier to feel better when it was sunny and warm, when the coldness and the dampness weren't weighing her down, but she would just have to take it like everything else. She picked up her wand and made for the exit of her suite; she could have gone to breakfast first, but she did not want to see anyone at the moment. She supposed that she might say or do something rash if she did, and she didn't want to do that. She just wanted to go outside and distract herself for a little while.

As she descended the stairs, she could hear as the rain started coming down harder, and she had to fight back the sardonic laugh that threatened to escape. It was almost as if the weather was mocking her—would she actually go outside in that? The answer was of course yes; she wasn't afraid of a little rain, and the cold air and water might make her head a little less foggy.

"_Increpitas Inflecto Forma Veres,_" she said, quietly, and watched as her wand morphed into the familiar scimitar. She twirled it in her hand once, without really thinking about it, and then held out in front of her. She had never really gotten over how beautiful it actually was; but, of course, with that beauty came deadliness. She knew how expertly she could wield the blade, and how effortless it would be in combat to kill someone with it, but she rarely thought about it in that context. She had never had a chance to test her abilities in a live scenario—mostly, it was just against her father or Dumbledore, who were both slower than her.

Harry could hold his own against her for a long time in purely physical combat, but since his sword was so much more cumbersome, he eventually tired and became sluggish. He only had to make one slip-up, and when he did, he usually found himself on the ground, staring up at the point of her blade. She had always marveled with the seemingly impossible ease that she was able to use it with, because she couldn't explain it. It just seemed natural to her, and she watched the blade as she nonchalantly twirled it quickly in her hand.

As she stepped off the last step onto the floor of the Entrance Hall, she paused for a moment. Her hand dropped to her side, and there was slight _clink_ when the tip came to rest against the stone floor. She took a slow, deep breath, and then let it out with a sigh.

The sword she was holding in her hand was proof of her skills, and the fact that she could manipulate with such authority was proof of her intelligence, tenacity, and drive. She knew that she was brilliant, even though no one would ever hear her brag about it—at least seriously—and that she was in tremendous physical shape. At eighteen, she had a lot going for her; more than any other person her age could say, that was for sure.

She now held a coveted position at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which she had taken for granted at first. When she found out that no one else had even been considered for the job, she had been both flattered and humbled. She was pleased that Dumbledore would trust her abilities enough to put her in the position to mold the minds of young witches and wizards, but she also realized what a large responsibility it was. She couldn't afford to fool around—not that she ever did, too much—if she wanted to be as successful as she knew she could be, but her current state of mind was not helping that fact.

Before Hermione had come back, to which she had been just as surprised as her father had been, she hadn't really had a care in the world. Sure, her father seemed to be lonely at times, and she wished that he could find someone to share his life with, as he had with Ginny, but in the grand scheme of things, his temperament was much improved over what it had been. And, buried somewhere deep in her soul, was the fear that what had happened to her as a young girl made her somehow less attractive. That hadn't really shown itself until the day before, though, and she still wasn't sure what that meant for her.

But she was digressing. Hermione _had_ come back, and her life had seemed to get far more complicated than it should have. She resented the older woman for what had happened, and she guessed she even resented her father a little for how quickly he had seemed to forget—or forgive—that transgression. To others it probably seemed hypocritical that she was so hard on Hermione, because she wanted her father to be with someone, but his ex-best friend had never been part of that equation. She had never even thought of the possibility, and the truth was, even though the memory of what her father had almost done had stayed with her, the memories of the people and the situations that had caused it had faded.

It wasn't until Hermione had been standing in the doorway of the Great Hall that it had all come crashing back. Everything from that time…her ordeal at the Orphanage, how Harry had saved her, the love she felt from him, and then how he had distanced himself because of his two friends. Part of that had come out when they were in Sicily, before Hermione had arrived, when she'd had the momentary meltdown, remembering with clarity what happened that terrible night.

That had served to facilitate her bitterness for Hermione, because she remembered how caring and open her father had been at first, and how dramatically that had changed over the next year and a half. She had thought that her father would have remembered something of the sort, as well, but apparently he either didn't realize the implications or didn't care, because he became awfully cozy with Hermione very quickly. Helen had been unable to explain it at first, and then had stopped trying. She wasn't going to get into a row with Hermione in Sicily, for her father's sake at least, but she planned to have a nice…_chat_ with her at some point.

She had been surprised when Hermione had come to her the night before, wanting to talk, but that chat was furthest from her mind at the moment. She was furious with her father for insinuating what he had, but upon a closer look, she realized that he really was just trying to look out for her. She had bit his head off, and stormed away, all because of what? She hadn't been able to answer that the night before, but now, standing before the doors to the castle, she thought she knew. Hermione had actually said some useful things the night before, but she hadn't been willing to admit that to her. She just wanted to be left alone.

Hermione had also told her that Harry had showed her the memory of the night of the Orphanage, but that it had been ten years earlier when she'd first come to Hogwarts. Helen wasn't sure how she felt about that…she felt it was almost an invasion of her privacy, but she also knew how hard it must have been for her father to make people understand exactly what he was doing with a little girl in his care. So, on one hand, she was angry with him, but on another, she was not. It only added to the confusion that was swirling around in her mind.

And that brought her back to the subject of just what her problem was. It wasn't that she was afraid of sex…because she wasn't. She was smart and savvy, and knew that sex could be very enjoyable and fulfilling if done with the right person and under the right circumstances. However…she had firsthand experience that the actual physical act of sex was something that many people took for granted, usually with other people, and she felt tainted because of it. She felt somehow…less worthy of partaking in and enjoying it. Paul had no idea about what had happened to her, and she somehow _knew_, unequivocally, that he would think less of her if he did.

She waved her hand and the door opened up on the deluge; the frown returned as she looked at the pouring rain up close for the first time, but she had come this far, and she didn't feel like going back yet. She could hear voices coming from the Great Hall, and she had to go in the opposite direction of them…so she stepped out into the storm. She was chilled at first, as she moved down the steps and onto the soggy ground, but it soon became a numbness that wasn't only due to the unseasonable cold.

She set herself; her legs were rigid and taut, and upon close inspection, the muscles in her calves and thighs quivered with the leashed power they contained. She put herself in her starting pose, with her scimitar raised slightly, and then slashed it suddenly and violently down. There was a noise sounding like _shiiiiing_, and it was accentuated with minute _pings_ as the blade smote the raindrops out of its path. She leapt into the air, letting out that raw power she possessed, and did a double front flip, slicing and dicing imaginary foes as she did so. Her hair slapped wetly against her cheek, but she paid it no mind, and continued her quick, fluid movements.

The energy she was rapidly expending was a form of release, and she could tangibly feel the load on her mind lighten somewhat as she did a flying barrel roll, with her sword acting like a scythe. There was something freeing—liberating—about letting herself out like that. It wasn't often that she took full advantage of her physical or mental prowess, and it felt immeasurably good when she did. It made her realize that things weren't all bad, that the world wasn't coming to an end, and that with time she could learn to come to terms with herself and her problems.

She skidded to a halt in the now muddy grass, poised like a panther about to strike, and lunged forward to hit another ghostly enemy. She wasn't prepared for an actual physical object to be in the way, and the striking of her blade on something just as hard rung painfully up through her arms. She stared, bewildered, at the face of her father. He had his sword up before him, and had met her blow.

"Dad…?" she asked, hesitantly. As soon as she had opened her mouth, the rain running down her face had changed course and entered it. She spit it out and returned her eyes to her father's.

"Hey…" he said. "I saw you out here," he continued, looking around at the slop the rain was creating. His eyes briefly went to the sky. "Are you alright?"

Helen didn't respond. Why did he have to interrupt her? It had felt so good to let herself go, with nothing but the rain and the blade to occupy her. Maybe he would understand how she felt if he _felt_ it. She whirled, bringing her scimitar down, and was parried by Harry. He had an incredulous look on his face.

"Helen?"

She did it again, and he parried again, but he had to take a step back under the force of her blow. "No," she ground out, striking at him again, "I'm not ok," and she jumped at him. He raised the Crusader blade just in time, but this time he took several steps back, and winced. He obviously hadn't absorbed that one very well.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, but her only answer was to drive against him another time. She did it thrice successively, and each time he was a little slower in blocking them. A few more times and she would have him…

"Helen, stop!" he said, and ducked as the flat of her blade flew over his head. He finally retaliated, swiping his feet out at her lower legs, but she jumped in plenty of time and brought her blade down upon him. He blocked it, but was pressed to the ground. He was looking at her with something like confusion and shock in his eyes. She was pressing her blade against his with all her might, and her voice came out strained because of it.

"Now do you know what it feels like? Now can you understand how it feels to have no ideas what's going on around you? To feel like everyone's your enemy, and no one cares anymore?"

Her father's was also strained, for the very reason hers was. She could see the muscles bulging in his forearms as he held her sword in check. "I'm not your enemy, Helen. I never have been." She saw…hurt in his eyes. "I don't know what would give you that impression."

"_Fervens_," she hissed, and watched with some satisfaction as the flames shot out from the metal. She could see the flickering blue and bronze colors reflected in her father's irises. "_How_ could you show Hermione that memory?" she asked. Now that he was here, she had forgotten about the duality of her feelings. She only knew the anger from it.

"What memory?" he asked, and his arms gave about an inch. Helen wasn't physically stronger than him, but her positional advantage and the added power the unlocked sword gave her were slowly eating away at his strength.

"Of the Orphanage!" she said, and she pressed harder yet. Her father grimaced and held his ground, for the moment.

She saw several emotions pass over his face: confusion, realization, and then disbelief. "_That's_ why you're so upset?"

"Shouldn't I be?"

"No, you shouldn't," he said, and his face set in a hard line. "_Animus_," he added, and the crimson and gold flames shot from his blade, mixing with the flames from hers. They coalesced into a violent, but not dangerous, firestorm. Helen held fast though, and she could tell that it was taking everything her father had to keep her at bay.

"That was _my_ business, Dad," she said, and hated herself for the slight quaver she had heard in her voice. It made her feel weak.

Harry had a helpless look on his face, but she couldn't bring herself to feel sympathy for him. She had too many things raging around in her. All those things she had thought before were coming to the fore now, all at once, and it was hard not to blame _someone_.

"How do you think that makes me feel, when someone brings up something I had no idea they knew about me?" She watched her father blink as water dripped off one of their swords onto his face.

"It was the only way I could make them understand, Helen," he said, and his voice was very quiet.

"They didn't need to understand! I would have thought their trust in you would have been enough!" she said. She must have struck a chord in him, because she saw a lightning-quick snarl spread across his face. It was gone almost as fast as it had come.

"As we _both_ know, it obviously wasn't," he retorted, and she could hear iron in his voice. His arms gave another inch or so, and his eyes flicked to their swords and then back to hers.

"That…you…it wasn't something she should have known," she said, but her voice lost some of its zeal. She was taking stock of her situation for the first time since he'd come out there, and she realized that she was pressing a sharp metal object down onto her father, who was barely holding her back.

"Is it bothering you that she knew, or are you worried about it for some other reason?" he asked.

She bit her lip. "And what_ are_ you doing with Hermione?" she questioned.

"Don't change the subject, Helen."

She sighed, and then all at once dropped the pressure she was putting onto him. She stepped back and watched as he slowly extricated himself from the wet and muddy ground. The blades, still burning bright, caused the rain around them to sparkle in four hues. She just stood there, looking at the ground, waiting for him to say something—to reproach her, to question her, _something_.

"Are you angry at me…or are you scared about something?" he eventually asked.

After her little show of anger she decided that being as forthright as possible would be for the best. "I'm not angry with you Dad…I never really was. Just a little confused, and maybe disappointed, too."

"You're disappointed about Hermione and I?"

"No…ok, a little…but I'm disappointed with myself." She brushed some wet strands off her face, and looked up from the ground. His eyes were scrutinizing her intensely, but his face had become tender and compassionate

"How could you ever be? You're smart, beautiful, athletic…"

"And bloody _used_," she spat, and clenched her jaw at the burning in her eyes. She would _not_ cry. Her father shook his head lightly, dropping his sword on the ground. It reverted back to his wand. He came to her and wrapped his arms around her, resting his cheek against her sodden hair.

"Is that what you think? You think you're less deserving of love, or affection, because of what happened?" She nodded against him, and then dropped her own sword; her wand hit the grass. She encircled her arms around her father.

"Helen," he implored, softly, "you can't do that to yourself. You're a wonderful person, and just because someone _took advantage_ of you doesn't make you any less desirable in the eyes of other people."

"But—"

"No buts," he cut her off. "There was nothing you could have done to prevent what happened. It _wasn't your fault_. No one will think any less of you because of it."

She took a shaky breath. Her father always made things better. "A-alright…I'm sorry that I attacked you like that," she said, but he just laughed.

"I guess I deserved it," he said, and leaned back to look in her eyes. "About Hermione and I…is it really that difficult for you to accept that there could be something between us?"

Helen gave her father a rueful smile. "As long as _this_," she emphasized, indicating their hug with a nod of head, "never changes…no, I guess not."

His face broke into a wide smile, and she couldn't help but join in as he leaned forward to embrace her tightly once again. "That's my girl," he intoned, and patted her on the back. He stepped back and bent to pick up his wand; she retrieved hers from the ground as well.

"You should really talk to her sometime, though, about…everything," he said.

"I know," she replied, "and I-I w-will," she chattered. Now that she wasn't moving anymore, she was rather cold and wet. Harry gave her a look, and then rubbed his forearms.

"It is quite chilly…I think we could both use a hot shower right about now." Helen nodded, and they began to walk through the mud and rain back to the castle. Just inside the doors, Harry stopped and turned to her.

"So are we alright?"

She nodded and gave him a smile. They were definitely all right. Her father never failed to make her feel better, even if sometimes she got incredibly annoyed with him, because it never lasted.

"Yeah, we are," she replied. He nodded once, squeezed her hand, and then Disapparated. It was with some ironic self-deprecation that she realized she could do that as well, and that she should more often—they could have done it directly from outside. She Disapparated from the Entrance Hall, leaving it empty, save for the puddle that had accumulated beneath both their feet.

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The next two weeks were, without fail, some of the busiest that Harry, Hermione, and Helen had ever seen. Staff trickled back in during that time, and they all had to get ready for the upcoming school year. Helen and Hermione both had more on their plates than Harry did, so they all temporarily suspended whatever maladjustments they still had with each other and set to work.

Helen and Hermione had to set up their classrooms, as well as reviewing the existing curriculums in Potions and Transfiguration to make sure they were current on everything being taught. They had to review the textbooks and create lesson plans for the first term, because Dumbledore was adamant that his Professors had at least some idea of the direction they would go in.

Harry, on the other hand, already had his classroom set and his textbooks memorized, but he had to go over further changes in his curriculum. Since he had become the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, he had catalyzed many changes in the way the class was taught—not just at Hogwarts, but also all over the magical world. The changes, in the end, came back to him as official revisions to the curriculum and what was expected of each year of students, and he had to make sure that he was up to date on them. It was ironic to him that things he had first started doing eventually were things he had to _make sure_ he was still doing.

So it was with little ceremony that the morning of September 1st, 2009 rolled around, and it wouldn't have been unusual, except for one thing: the weather had not changed. It hadn't rained constantly, but the constant pall the low hanging clouds cast never ceased. It was also still unseasonably cold, which caused those that had been in Sicily to feel the loss of the sun even more keenly. There was not much anyone could do however, because ultimately, magic couldn't control the climate.

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Hermione leaned over her desk, concentrating on some last second revisions to her lessons plans for the next few weeks. Her first class was due in about ten minutes, and she had to make sure that she was ready for them. She knew all of the material, but she was the type of person that had to have everything planned out precisely.

Planned out precisely…she supposed that's why what she was so confused about what she had with Harry. It wasn't following any set pattern, or any preconceptions that she'd had about relationships. Some days, he was approachable and affectionate and other days he was reticent and distant. The off and on warm and cold feelings she was getting hurt her, because in some respects she thought it was because of her. She knew that he had to come to terms with Ginny, but it didn't feel nice when she tried so hard to show him how much she cared, and he ignored it.

She heard voices outside her classroom, which broke off her train off thought, and looked back down at the plan she had been concluding. There was still some left to do, but she supposed that she could take care of it later. She stood to greet her new students, and the door swung open; the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw first years trickled shyly into the classroom.

She remembered with some clarity what it was like going to her first class, and she couldn't blame these eleven year olds for the slightly terrified looks they had on their faces. She hoped, at least, that she didn't look quite as stern as Minerva did when Hermione had first seen her.

"Find a seat, please, everyone find a seat. There's plenty of room for everyone—no, fill in the front rows first, please. After you've found one, take out your textbook and your wands please."

She gave them all enough time to get appropriately settled, and the moved around from behind her desk. She slowly paced the space between the front row and her desk, with her arms crossed.

"I trust you all found it easy to get acclimated last night?" she asked the class. Various nods met her question, "And was the feast everything I'm sure you've heard it would be?" This time more nods, and even some smiles, answered her. "That's good," she said with a smile.

"My name is Hermione Granger," she motioned to herself. "You can call me either Professor Granger or Miss Hermione, whichever you prefer. This is First Year Transfiguration, and it's the start of your seven years in this class.

"Some of you—those who score well on their OWLs at the end of your fifth years—will go on to my NEWT Transfiguration class during your sixth and seventh years, and the rest of you will continue with the core curriculum.

"I know that this might seem a little early for this speech, but I know from personal experience how important this class is for success after Hogwarts. I urge all of you to take your studies seriously, while having _some_ fun, of course, because employers like to see that NEWT Transfiguration is on your resumes."

Hermione had to smile to herself. Many of the kids looked fairly bewildered, as if they hadn't been expecting such a…direct…speech on their first day, but it would serve its purpose. Her voice had been warm and inviting, letting them know that she was approachable as their professor, but the words had set into their minds that Transfiguration wasn't a class they could fool around in.

"Are there any questions?" No one moved or said anything for a few seconds; then, a boy of dark complexion slowly raised his hand.

"Yes…?" she cocked her head at him.

"Timmy, Timmy James," he said. "You went to Hogwarts, too?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I did. I graduated in 1998."

The boy acquired a thoughtful look for a moment. "Wasn't that the year Harry Potter graduated?"

Hermione smiled at him. "Yes, it was."

A small girl in the front looked like she was about to burst, and sure enough, she spoke next: "What's he like?" There was a breathless quality to her voice.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "You have class with him, don't you?" she asked. The little girl nodded. "What's your name?"

"Beth," she said.

"Well, Beth, I think you'll see what he's like when you sit for Defense for the first time," Hermione said, and watched as the little girl's cheeks went slightly pink. Hermione shook her head minutely; Harry didn't realize it, or didn't care, but he had the new students wrapped around his finger—it was a wonder that they became so easy with him by the time they graduated. It was a testament to his teaching, and his personality, though, that he could forge normal relationships with those whom had idolized him for so long.

Timmy spoke again. "Miss Hermione…weren't you one of his closest friends? I recognize your name."

Hermione nodded again. "Yes…yes I was, but why don't we get back to the topic of Transfiguration? We can talk about Professor Potter another time. In fact," she said, knitting her eyebrows, "we could have a joint Transfiguration-Defense class at some point. How does that sound to all of you?"

This time the nods and smiles were very enthusiastic. It was amazing what the name 'Harry Potter' did to enliven the spirits of youngsters.

"Alright…who can tell me what Transfiguration is?"

She pointed to a girl who raised her hand, raising her eyebrows. "It's Anna…and Transfiguration is the study of the magical art of changing an object into something else."

Hermione inclined her head. "That is a good start, but it is a little more than just that. With Transfiguration, you can do more than just change things. You can animate them, shrink or enlarge them, or even hide them.

"Take this Snitch, for example," she said, picking up the small golden ball off her desk. Its wings lay folded and dormant against its lustrous sides. "I presume that you all know what Quidditch is." They affirmed that they did.

"As you can see, it is not moving, unlike how they usually are. Snitch's have complicated animation spells on them, to prevent tampering, which are built from the simplest of them." Hermione raised her wand to the gold ball.

"_Vola!_" she commanded, and the wings fluttered slightly; the ball raised itself about an inch off her palm. There were some noises of awe and satisfaction from the class.

"You will be able to do this by the end of this year." Her look turned crafty. "It might just be on your final exam." The noises quickly died away. "But, it's not too bad. It's not a very hard spell, and once you master it, you can't forget how to do it."

She let the class watch the hovering ball for another minute, and then said, "_Finite_." It dropped back into her palm, and set it carefully back onto her desk. She turned back around.

"Now…take this paper clip here," she intoned as she held up the small metal object. "It's useful as it is, but this one is very small. Suppose you need to clip a large stack of papers, but this kind was the only one you had. What could you do?"

"You could make it bigger," a boy said.

"What's your name?"

"Ian."

"Alright, Ian, that's very good. I could enlarge it, rather than having to find or buy bigger ones." She pointed her wand at the paper clip. "_Engorgio_," she said, lightly, and let her magical power trickle into the spell. The paper clip increased in size about twofold.

"Now, as you can see, it didn't get much bigger, which is what I wanted. If I had put a lot of power into the spell, it would have become too large, and its purpose would have been defeated.

"That's another thing you will eventually learn, and master, as time progresses: how to regulate and vary the power with which you cast."

"Miss Hermione," a girl asked, raising her hand. Hermione arched an eyebrow toward her. "My name is Delia Cooper…are we going to study Animagi in this class?"

Hermione was wondering when that question would come up, and it had taken a little longer than she'd expected. She knew she was going to disappoint her pupils with what she was going to say, but better to let them know now than later.

"Up until about eight years ago, we would have studied it in your seventh year NEWT class. However, the Ministry of Magic felt that it was unnecessary and took time away from important studies, such as live Transfigurations. So, I'm sorry to say, you will not be studying Animagi at Hogwarts."

Many faces in the class fell. "But…but does that mean we never will be able to?" Delia asked.

"After you graduate, I'm sure you can find private tutors if you really want to try your hand at the art."

"What do _you_ transform into, Miss Hermione?" the same girl asked.

Hermione shook head. "I'm not gifted in that particular field of study," she said. "I am not an Animagus." She supposed there might have been some sorrow in her face, but she had moved past that particular disappointment, years before. She had actually discovered that she was unable to transform soon after she'd left Britain.

"Oh," Delia said, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, Delia; you have nothing to be sorry for." Hermione looked around the class. "Any more questions?"

A boy raised his hand—he looked very sheepish. When Hermione indicated that he could go on, he said, "I'm Travis Parker…I was just wondering how old Professor Dumbledore is?" He then looked as if he couldn't believe he asked that, because he dipped his head and blushed. There were some chuckles from the class, and Hermione couldn't hold her own back. It was a perfectly innocent question, and they might all be surprised by the answer. She didn't care that it had nothing to do with Transfiguration; let them get their general questions out of the way first—the more focused study could come on the second day of class.

"Well…he was born in 1846, which makes him one hundred and sixty three at the moment." She watched as eyes went wide throughout the class.

"So he's…wow, how is that even possible?" Travis asked. She assumed that he was raised as a Muggle, because they lived shorter lives than wizards. It was uncommon to see one over a hundred years of age, whereas with magical people, old age didn't become uncommon until about one hundred and forty.

"His age _is_ unusual, but not as much as you might think. Witches and wizards live much longer than Muggles, due to how their magic affects their bodies. He is very powerful, and that explains how he has lived so long."

"How powerful is he?" someone asked, and she didn't catch whom.

"The second most powerful wizard in the world," she responded.

"Really? Whose the first?"

"I think you all can guess _that_," she said, and waited for them to make the connection. She was actually very surprised that they didn't know.

"Is it Harry Potter?"

She nodded. "And you're all lucky enough to have him as a Professor…which reminds me, don't let him hear you call him Harry, unless he says it's ok."

"Do you think he'll show us some of what he can do?"

She smiled at the wide-eyed inexperience they were all exuding; it was very cute. "I'm sure he will someday," she said, and she realized that _she_ had never even seen the full extent of his magical powers. She would have to coax him to show her sometime.

The signal for the end of class rang out. She raised her hands to address them one more time. "For next class, I'd like you to look over the first chapter of your textbook. Just have a basic idea of what we're going to be talking about." They filed out of the classroom, and Hermione returned to her desk after the last had left.

Her first class had been a success, even though they had all seemed to want to talk more about Harry than Transfiguration, but she was sure that would pass with time; once they came to know their Defense teacher, they wouldn't be so hung up on the image they'd created of him.

Hermione had her own image of him…and at the moment it wasn't very flattering. He was seemingly unwilling to commit totally to her. She would visit him later that night and try to work things out once and for all.

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"I think I can skip the usual preamble this year, right?" Harry asked, addressing his class of sixth year Slytherins and Gryffindors. They had just come in, and this was his first class of the new year. He recognized all of the faces, and was glad that most of the previous fifth years had scored high enough on their OWLs to be in this NEWT Defense class. The Slytherin stereotype had faded over the years, and they were no longer distinguished as the 'bad' or 'dark' house. They were simply the ones with most ambition.

"Sure thing, Professor," one of the boys said.

"Please take out your wands then. Today will be a practical lesson; we'll get to the theory next time." There was some shuffling as books and bags were put away, and once it ceased, the only thing they all were holding was their wands.

"What's the most common magical defense?" he asked. Every hand in the class shot up. "My sixth and seventh year NEWT classes are very informal—there's no need for hands. We're all equal here, so just shout out the answer."

"_Protego_," a few of them said.

"And what can _Protego_ stop?"

"Anything," a girl said, "if you can apply the requisite amount of magical power."

"Very good; I'm glad you remembered that little tidbit."

"Wait…even _Avada Kedavra_?" it was asked.

"Well, now," Harry started, "you bring up an interesting point." He leaned back against his desk and crossed his arms across his chest. "Ten years ago, it was commonly thought that the Killing Curse was unblockable. However, in recent studies conducted by the Ministry of Magic, and by myself here at Hogwarts, we have come to the conclusion that one _can_ in fact block it."

There were many surprised looks throughout the class. "How is that possible?"

"Do any of you know what an _Avada Kedavra_ actually does?"

"It severs the connection between the soul and the body, Professor."

Harry nodded. "Can you actually explain that, though?" At their confused looks, he clarified. "Can you really say what a soul is, or how it's actually tied to the body? What's the process the Killing Curse goes through to complete its task?"

A few people shook their heads, and there were many blank stares. "No one even wants to guess?"

"Um…" a boy started, "does it overload the person's magical core?"

Harry smiled ruefully. "A good guess, but that would only make them combust in their own energies. Anyone else?"

"Does it have anything to do with the caster's soul?" a girl asked, and she was instantly rewarded by a bright smile from her Professor.

"Very good," Harry said. "That's exactly right. _Avada Kedavra_ forms an instantaneous connection between the souls, and the spell serves to overpower that link in their victim. It's all part of the process of the spell.

"Literally translated," Harry continued, "the incantation means 'it shall be destroyed'. And that is precisely what it does—it destroys life."

"You said there was a way to block it?"

"Yes, and it's simply a variation of the _Protego_. It requires great concentration, though, because it is not based on your magical power. It's based on your will, and the more indomitable that is, the easier it is to cast."

Harry stood up from where he was leaning on his desk. "I'd like you all to stand up," he said, and they quickly did so. With a wave of his hand, he banished all of the desks and chairs to the back of the room. The students were used to his wandless magic, and did not question it.

"First things first; everyone cast a simple _Protego_," he said. He watched as they all did so, noting the various colors of their shields. Gold was the most powerful, followed by platinum, silver, bronze, light blue, and then a yellowish color. Most had either light blue or yellow, but there were a few with bronze ones. Harry cast his own, and a sleek, gold magical barrier slid into place around him.

"This spell, as you all know, _is_ dependent on the strength you cast it with; everyone cast it again, and this time force as much of your power into it as you can." They all did so, and this time, they all had either light blue or bronze ones. Harry did likewise, to the limits his non-ascended magic could take him, and a much brighter version of the same gold shield came up around him.

"You should all be able to feel your magic literally pulsing to sustain this level of usage," he said, and saw that many of them were in fact straining to keep them up. "You can let them down…I don't want to strain you all too much in our first class of the year," he said with a smile. There were audible sighs as the shields around the room blinked out of existence.

"Now…we're going to try the specialized _Protego_," Harry instructed.

"Who discovered this spell?" one of the students queried.

"Well…no one 'discovered' it, exactly. It was more of a…manipulation of preexisting magical parameters."

"Then who did that?"

Harry smiled benignly. "It's not important, but if you _must_ know, I was the principle researcher." Harry saw that none of his class was surprised; he was glad for it. He hated having to explain his 'talents' to people.

"So what's the incantation?"

"_Animis Protega_," Harry said. "Simply, it literally means 'protection of souls'. However, the magical feeling it requires is much more complicated. You have to plainly _want_ to protect yourself, and you have to sustain that want."

Harry grew very somber. "I really hope that none of you will ever be put into a situation where you would actually have to use this spell, but I can tell you that if the Killing Curse has been cast against you, in a _real_ situation, that want will be born of desperation and it _will_ stay."

No one moved or said anything. He knew they were all aware of just how much firsthand experience he had, and no one questioned what he said.

"As I said before, this spell has nothing to do with magical power. Even the weakest of witches or wizards can cast it—I presume that squibs could, as well—as long as they have the will to live and protect themselves."

"Professor?" someone asked. Harry looked at the young lady.

"Yes, Samantha?"

"Why do you think it's so important that we learn this?" It was a simple question, but Harry knew that the implied one was whether or not he expected them to _have to_ use it.

Harry sighed. "It may not seem like it to all of you, but the world is an imperfect place. Not all people are as benevolent as we'd like to believe, and there are many out there with little regard for life.

"My job, as your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, is to teach you the skills necessary to protect yourselves against the Dark Arts; more than that, however, I want to teach you how to preserve your life, your sanity, and your physical and magical health.

"I sincerely hope there never is a case for any of you to use this spell outside of this classroom, but if that time comes, when you have to protect yourselves, I'll be glad that I could have provided you with at least some of the knowledge required. So, in answer to your question, it's important _to me_ that you learn this, and it should be important to all of you, as well."

There was another silence when he stopped speaking, and Harry gave them a few seconds to absorb all that he'd said. He believed every word of it, because he'd seen so much death and pain during his life; none of them needed to experience that, and if he could educate them with ways to prevent it, he would try his damnedest. Harry closed his eyes briefly, realizing that he had his own pain still to deal with. He was so gung-ho about preventing others', that he sometimes let his own fester. The hypocrisy had finally presented itself, through his _own_ words, and he saw no reason for it to continue; it was about time he started preventing his own pain. Maybe he would see Hermione later on and let her know…

"Professor?"

Harry shook his head. "Sorry about that…anyways, I'd like you all to try the spell once, and then we can be done for the day."

There were faint flickers as they cast the new spell, but no one even came close to producing the desired effect. Harry knew were two things wrong: it was the first time they'd tried, and they didn't have the proper stimulus to give them the extra push. It was not like he could give them that, though, because he wasn't about to cast Killing Curses around the room. He saw many disappointed looks.

"Don't be discouraged," he told them. "It's very hard to master."

"Let's see it," a girl said, and he raised his hand. He concentrated for a moment, and then spoke the incantation. A pure white essence faded into view. It quavered slightly. Harry held it for a few moments, and then let it fade away.

"All of yours will look like that, when you are able to cast it," he said, and then dismissed them. He unbanished the chairs and desks from the rear of the room, and then sat down at his desk. He would _definitely_ be seeing Hermione later.

----------

Helen set out the last of the ingredients across the worktable at the front of the room, and turned to make sure the cauldrons were all in order. She wiped her hands across the front of her work robes, partly because they were slightly dirty and also because they were sweaty. She was somewhat nervous, as this was her first class as a Professor at Hogwarts, but she had confidence in herself. She watched as the door opened and the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor 2nd years strolled in, quickly finding seats. They looked expectantly to her.

"Hello…I'm Professor Potter, and this is 2nd year Potions. So, how is it to be back at Hogwarts again?" she asked them.

There was a smattering of 'goods' and 'greats'; a boy raised his hand. She pointed to him.

"Professor Potter, weren't you the Head Girl last year?" he asked.

Helen nodded. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I was." She continued with a small smile: "I had the power to discipline you then, and I still do now." She winked at them. That seemed to break whatever ice there had been, and the atmosphere in the room visibly relaxed.

"What's it like to be a Professor?" someone asked.

"Well…you are my first class; I guess I'll find out, right?" she responded. Some of them laughed.

"Well, I think you'll be a lot nicer than Professor Snape," someone else said.

"Oh, come now, Professor Snape wasn't all that bad," she said, eyeing the boy who had declared that. He shrunk in his seat slightly. "He is a little…callous…but he's brilliant when it comes to Potions."

"So are you, though," the boy said, straightening up a little.

"Oh? And how do you know that?" she asked, amused.

"You got O+'s on all of your NEWTS!" he declared.

Helen was a little surprised that he knew that. She wasn't aware that people's scores were public knowledge.

"If you don't mind me asking…?" she cocked her eyebrow at him.

"Michael," he said.

She nodded. "Michael, if you don't mind me asking, how did you know that?"

He gave her a funny look. "There was a huge article in the _Daily Prophet_ about it."

"Really…huh." Helen shrugged. "In any case, I'm glad that you seem to have faith in me," she said. "Now, how about we get started for the day?" Several students took out their books and rearranged some supplies on their desks.

"Today we will be working on a salve that alleviates the pain from stinging hexes. It's a rather simple Potion, but one of the ingredients is volatile, so we must all observe the proper precautions. There are sets of dragon hide gloves in the back of the room, and you all should wear them for the duration of this class." There was the scraping of many chairs, and the second years filed toward the back to pick up the gloves. Once they had all returned to their seats, she started to go over the ingredients.

"First, you need to heat about ¼ of a cauldron of water to boiling, and then you should put about five ounces of powdered root of asphodel in there. That must sit for about 10 minutes before you can proceed, so you can set to work on the next few ingredients while you wait.

"Ten grams of sunflower seeds and eight grams of diced euphrasia should be added after those 10 minutes, and then you should stir it counter-clockwise for another 10 minutes. The next ingredient—the nectar from a Venus flytrap, is corrosive and is what you need your gloves for.

"As soon as you're done stirring, transfer fifteen milliliters from the main source, up here on my desk, into your cauldrons. Let it sit for another five minutes, stir clockwise twice, and you should be finished. It should be a dark purple color at that point."

Most had taken notes as she was talking, and they all confidently set out to do their business. She watched as they poured the water into their cauldrons and set the flame beneath it; they then had to wait for it to boil. She slowly walked up and down the rows, making sure they were all behaving appropriately. The students then moved on to carefully measuring the asphodel, and poured it in. There was a slight hissing as the substance met the boiling water.

It appeared that Snape had trained these students well the previous year, because so far as she could see, they were taking it very seriously. She had always enjoyed the moody Professor, because she knew that he was brilliant and that he used his snarkiness as a way to distance himself from the students. He wasn't mean—he just wasn't overly fond of young people.

She remembered how her and Paul had constantly annoyed the man, mostly because they had never, in their entire seven years at Hogwarts, made a potion incorrectly. By the time they were both seventh years, he was giving the two of them much harder assignments than the rest of the class, but they still got them right.

Thinking of Paul so suddenly like that sent pangs through her heart—she hadn't seen him in the past week or so. Perhaps she would let him know that he could come to Hogwarts later in the day, and they could finally enjoy some quality time alone together.

A sliding noise broke her from her thoughts, and her eyes went to the room before her. She noticed students scrambling out of the way, and someone screamed. She identified the problem immediately; a cauldron full of boiling water and ingredients was somehow tipping over. If it did so, it would most likely burn several of her students.

Without thinking, she Apparated across the room, ascended, and reached out with her magic just as the cauldron tipped. The hot mixture stopped about halfway to the stone floor, suspended in the air by her magic. She reversed its progress, and the cauldron was soon back into its normal position. She descended and turned to the offending students. They had wide-eyed amazement in her eyes; in fact, as she noticed, most of them did.

"What happened?"

"Uh…" one of them stammered out, "I'm not sure. It just started sliding." Helen furrowed her brows, and then turned to the small pedestal the cauldron was on. She inspected it closely for a moment, and then realized that it was slightly slanted. The weight of the water must have finally overcome the friction of the stone on the cauldron, and over it went. She concentrated for a moment, and then ascended once again. A bright green aura flashed out from her body.

The students stepped back, watching their Professor do something like nothing they'd ever seen before. Helen kneeled before the pedestal, and slowly green tendrils reached out and surrounded the stone. It flashed brightly for a moment, and then she stood. There was no longer a tilt—she had permanently transfigured the stone to better accommodate the cauldron.

"That should be all set," she said, and smirked as she turned back toward her desk. Her students were in awe of her, which wasn't altogether a bad thing, but it would have to be quelled eventually. "Please get back to work, everyone."

She continued to monitor their progress throughout the rest of the class, especially when they came to using the nectar of the Venus flytrap—she didn't want any serious accidents on her first day. One had already been avoided, but that was close enough. Finally, as the class drew to a close, the students took samples of their salves from their cauldrons, stoppered the flasks, and set them on her desk. She was satisfied to see that most of them were exactly the right shade of purple they should be.

"Alright, I'm very happy with you all. Good job everyone—for next time, please review chapter one of your textbook. We will be working on several of those potions in the coming classes."

The students cleaned the workstations and left the room. She surveyed it once, making sure that everything was in order, and then left to go to lunch. She was having a good day so far, and she hoped that she could make it better by seeing Paul later on.

Maybe she would actually tell him what had happened to her…he probably had a right to know. And if what her father had told her was true, then it shouldn't affect how he saw or treated her. She really hoped that her father had been right, because she didn't know if she could deal with that kind of rejection. But…that conversation would come later. For now, she would eat her lunch and continue to enjoy her first day as a Professor at Hogwarts. Maybe she would even ask Hermione how her first class had gone. Helen smiled to herself. Perhaps things weren't so bad after all.


	24. Begun Again

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: Remember folks…this is rated Mature. Enjoy and please review!**

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Chapter 24: Begun Again

It had been a long day. Hermione felt that with distinct clarity, because she was physically and mentally weary. She loved her new job, and she loved the kids she'd had so far, but it was certainly tiring. She supposed that once she got used to the routine it would get better, but she found it hard to believe that teaching Transfiguring was really more trying than being an Auror.

It probably didn't help that she had many other things on her mind; she was trying to juggle being a competent Professor and her own jumbled and confusing private life. That was what she was wrestling with at the moment. It was now late in the evening, and her private life had asserted itself over her professional life once again. She sighed and turned around.

Hermione couldn't decide what to wear. She stood in front of her wardrobe, staring at the many clothes hanging there, putting the question to herself: what was she really trying to accomplish? She knew she was about to go to Harry and try to work out whatever was between them, but what did she want? The answer wasn't easy, or clear, so she just stood staring for a few moments longer.

She finally reached in and parted two pairs of jeans, and found what she was looking for. She took out the modest black cocktail dress and held it up to herself—the color in her skin and her lighter hair actually made it look better than she thought it would have. She pulled off her slacks and her blouse, which she had been wearing under her robes all day, and started to pull the dress over her head. She paused for a second, though, as her reflection caught her eye in the mirror. Her scantily clad image stared back at her, as if to taunt her with thoughts she didn't need at the moment. The black material slipped over the revealing attire, covering the smooth contours of her body just as she tried to cover the jagged edges of her psyche by pushing away the thoughts that had risen.

She frowned at how her hair looked, but ultimately decided to just pull it back into a tight ponytail—if she tried anything else she'd be there for another hour. She thought about applying makeup, but then questioned herself as to why she would be doing that. She looked fine; the dress accentuated her curves nicely, while still being reserved, so she didn't need to advertise herself any more. She found a pair of open-toed party shoes, and slipped them on. She smoothed the hem of her dress, took a deep breath, and turned away from the mirror.

As she stepped out of her suite into the corridor, several students were walking by. They were all older boys, and he saw them eye her appreciatively. It made her slightly uncomfortable, and she gave them a stern glare. Their eyes snapped to the front and they quickly went on their way. Well…at least she knew she had something good to look at. Maybe Harry would be able to see that, even though that really wasn't a priority. She just wanted him to talk to her, and tell her what he was really feeling, so that all of their pretenses could be dropped. It had been going on for far too long.

She could hear the incessant beat of the rain on the castle, and standing there in the dark hallway, it made her feel quite melancholy. She almost had everything she wanted—she was back in England and she had a great job…but she had a feeling that if things didn't work out with Harry, she would have to leave. She didn't know if she could face the past twice in one lifetime. The constant pall the weather pushed over everything reminded her of the worst moment of her life—Ginny's funeral. The weather had been just as mournful then, and she was reminded of that…

Hermione shook her head. She had to stop that. Tonight she would find out if she really had a place back in England, or if she should just disappear again. If she didn't…she'd be like she was when she'd first come to Hogwarts: friendless. She slowly let out a long, low sigh; she turned and started walking in the direction of Harry's suite, hoping that he was there and that he would be receptive of her.

----------

Helen was restless. She hadn't been able to sit still for very long, and had finally just taken up pacing around her suite. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her brow was creased, and she walked with a quick fluid step. She ended up near the window, and stopped for a moment to stare out at the dreary night. The lights from the various windows lit up the ground around the stone walls, but beyond that, it was lost in the inky blackness of the rainy night.

She thought back over the long day that was now coming to a close. She had taught her first three classes—successfully, she thought—and had even attempted to make civil conversation with Hermione at lunch. The results of that little experiment had been mixed, but Helen thought that was more because Hermione was confused at Helen's new tone. She had seemed a little bewildered when Helen had greeted her warmly, and the entire meal had been like that. Hermione had been overly cautious and Helen had maybe been a little too cheery.

She blinked and shook her head a little. She was still staring out of the window. She turned away from the night and glanced at the clock on the wall, seeing that it was eight o'clock. She had Flooed Paul earlier and told him that she wanted him to come to the castle tonight. She told him eight thirty, so that gave her a half hour to get ready. She paused though, as she thought about what she actually wanted to happen this night. Her father had made a lot of sense, but she couldn't help but feel reservations anyway. In some ways, she almost had to prove it to herself that she wasn't tainted in any way, but that was hard to do.

That required her to face her demons in the most direct way, and she didn't know if she and Paul were necessarily ready for that—well, he might have been, but she wasn't sure if she was. She knew that slowly, over their time at Hogwarts together, their platonic feelings for each other had slowly turned into something more, and that they were extremely comfortable with each other, but…

But they had never really talked about that next step. It just wasn't something they'd ever really thought about, but now that she was questioning her own sexual worth, as she liked to see it, it was an answer that she was looking for—she had to ask the question first, though. And she supposed that was part of the reason why she'd asked Paul to come, to put that out there. She also just wanted to see him and be with him, because he made her feel comfortable.

Helen walked over to the bathroom and ran the hot water for a moment. She splashed some on her face, trying to force her cart wheeling thoughts into line. She straightened up, squared her shoulders, and scrutinized herself in the mirror. Her straight, silky brown hair hung loosely around her head, framing her tanned and beautiful face. She knew she was very pretty, so she was comfortable in thinking that. Her eyes dropped to her bared shoulders and arms, nicely toned from all the working out she did. They were then drawn to the modest amount of cleavage the dress she had on exposed, and was happy that she had inherited at least something worthwhile from her mother.

Helen was very comfortable with her body—there wasn't really anything else she wanted into that department. Physically, she was in top shape and knew, as a sexual being and a teenager with raging hormones, that she was attractive and physically desirable. Did that go all the way, though? If, and when, Paul found out about what happened to her, because she was planning on telling him when he showed up, would she still be as desirable in his eyes? Her father said yes, and some part of her did as well, but there was still a small part that had reservations. That small part wanted to be safe and secure in the knowledge that she wouldn't ever have to know, that she wouldn't ever have to find out…but that wasn't how she could live her life.

Realistically, if she never found the answer to that question, at some point she would stop living. She would be deluding herself if she thought she could take not knowing forever, and even if by knowing she confirmed her worst fears, it was still better than the unknown. She had faith in Paul, though, and also in herself, especially after what her father had told her. She was set in the decision to tell him when he came, and she was pretty sure—as sure as she could be, at least—that he would be supportive and understand her.

In all honesty, she still remembered a few images and a few distinct feelings from that night in the Orphanage, but the overall vision was fading. Sometimes, she still dreamt of it, but it would be skewed slightly. Occasionally, her father would come earlier and prevent her abuse from ever happening; other times, she would fight the man off with skills she'd acquired since.

Helen squeezed the sides of the sink in frustration, and forced her thoughts away from that subject. Dwelling on it wouldn't get her anywhere; no, she had to face it once tonight and then she'd be past it forever. She was about to turn away from the mirror and exit the bathroom, but her perfume caught her eye. On a whim, she puffed some out onto her wrists, and rubbed a little on her neck. Why not? What could it hurt?

A knock came from the portrait, and she went into the sitting area. Paul was there, and her moment of truth had come. What would he say? How would he react? There was only one way to find out, and she waved the portrait aside.

----------

Harry just finished buttoning the last button on his shirt when a knock came at his portrait. He cocked his head to the side when he sensed Hermione's magical signature—that was ironic, considering that he was getting ready to go see her himself. He looked down at himself, taking stock of his black slacks and chic dark button-up, and mused for a moment on what his plans were.

He shrugged. It was too late to figure that out now, especially since Hermione was waiting outside of his suite. He wondered what she would think when she saw the way he was dressed. Would she wonder where he was going, or if he had had anything else planned? His feet carried him over the to portrait, and he waved it aside. Hermione stood there in a form-fitting black dress; she cocked her head at him, presumably at his attire. He just raised his eyebrow, and stepped aside. She came through the portrait, and it slid closed behind her.

"You're dressed well, tonight," Harry said.

Hermione cocked her head once again. Harry had to suppress a smile at the endearing motion. "So are you," she said, but it was inflected more like a question than a statement.

Harry just smiled slightly, and motioned toward the couch. They clearly both had a similar idea for the night…

"I was actually just heading to your suite," Harry said, as they both sat down.

"Really?" Hermione crossed her legs, which drew Harry's gaze for a moment. He raised his eyes back to her when she continued. "That's kind of ironic, isn't it?"

"I guess…" Harry trailed off. He needed to phrase his next question correctly. "Are you going somewhere tonight?" he asked, indicating her dress with a gesture of his hand.

Hermione looked around as a coy smile spread over her face. "Oh, I don't know…maybe."

"What?"

She leaned back into the cushion of the couch. "I was thinking of coming here," she said, and then looked Harry right in the eyes.

"Ah…" Harry intoned. "Well…what's on your mind?"

"Why don't you tell me why you were going to my suite?"

"Hermione…you know it's not polite to answer a question with a question," Harry teased. The conversation had a weird feel to it so far, and he wasn't sure why.

She wasn't forthcoming, however, and merely looked at him, with that same demure smile on her face. "Alright…I wanted to talk to you," he said. He noticed that her face became slightly more curious.

"About?" she prompted.

Harry sighed. He was going to get into it now. "You know what about, Hermione—about us. I wanted to talk to you about you and me."

She chuckled lightly, but it wasn't just humor that was in her laugh. There was something else there—perhaps nervousness, or hope? Harry couldn't tell.

"More irony, it seems," she said, "because that's exactly why I came here. I wanted to talk to you about us. I think it's past time that we do."

Harry nodded. "That's exactly how I feel. I can't continue to do this dance; I'm tired of it."

Hermione's eyebrows narrowed. "Wait…what do you mean…?"

Harry held up his hands. "Wait, wait…don't jump to conclusions. I only meant that it's time we work things out or we don't. Either way, it's time."

Hermione didn't say anything and didn't move for a few moments, and then slowly slid over to the couch until she was right next to him. She tentatively laid her head on his shoulder. He made no move to reciprocate the tender action, yet.

"What do you think, Harry? What do you really think about us…about this whole situation?" she asked. "Be honest," she added.

Harry took a moment to organize his thoughts. "At first, Hermione, I was completely bewildered. Absolutely gob smacked, if you will."

"How so?" she interposed.

"I never expected to see you again. Never. The only time I'd talked to you in the last year or so you were in Britain was right before you left. And then to see you back here, standing in that doorway…it just went against everything that I'd led myself to believe."

"Why was it such a shock, though? There was always a small possibility that I might have come back…" she said, softly.

"Because…because I had to convince myself that that part of my life was over in order to put it all behind me, and you were part of that. I had to make myself believe you were gone. Anyways…that's why I was so cold at first. I had to…er, _un_convince myself. And that took time."

"If I hadn't come to Sicily, where would we be?"

"Not as confused?" Harry joked, and was rewarded by a small chuckle from Hermione. He felt her shake slightly against him as the sound escaped her pouting lips…he refocused his eyes on his owns hands, which were in his lap.

"Yeah, I suppose…but then again, I wouldn't be here with my head on your shoulder," she said. In almost imperceptible motion, she snuggled a little more into his side.

"Going back to Sicily, though," Harry said, "what do _you_ think happened there?"

He felt her draw in a breath and let it out. "We, uh…we might have jumped the gun a bit." She paused for a moment. "But I don't regret it. I wouldn't be here right now if I did."

Harry finally felt cause to bring an arm up and slip it around her shoulders. Her skin felt cool against his arm. He knew what he had to say. "I don't regret it, either," he imparted, and squeezed slightly. She slipped an arm around his waist, kicked off her shoes, and brought her legs up onto the couch.

"I'm glad, Harry." They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, enjoying the closeness they were sharing. Harry leaned his cheek against the brown hair by his head, and breathed out slowly. Wisps of it blew out in front of his face, and he watched as they lazily wafted back to rest on her head.

"What are you thinking right now?" she asked him.

"How circular things can be," Harry responded, because he was indeed thinking about how his life had seemed to come full circle. "And how I wouldn't want it any other way."

"I…" Hermione started. She paused, seeming to collect herself, and then continued. "I love you, Harry."

Harry didn't respond immediately. It wasn't because he was unsure of his response; rather, it was because he wanted to make sure it was the right time for it. Here he was, with a beautiful, vivacious, and intelligent woman in his arms—one that he'd loved for probably close to twenty years now, even if he hadn't realized it until recently. It was the right time for it.

"I love you, too." Hermione turned her head and looked up at his face, and then closed her eyes and moved towards him. He leaned down and met her lips with his.

----------

"Hey Helen, how are you?" Paul said as he stepped through her portrait into her suite. She leaned into him and let him peck her on the cheek, and then led him over to the couch.

"I'm good, I'm good…it's been a long day, though," she said. They both reclined against the cushions, leaning against each other. That familiar ease that she felt with him came flooding back, sending warm ripples through her body.

"Students give you any problems?" Paul asked.

Helen shook her head and smiled gently. "No, they were all wonderful. Teaching is tiring, though, that's for sure. I can't complain too much, however, because I really enjoyed it today. They all kind of remind me of myself."

"They can't be as smart as you, though," he said, lightly. Helen giggled and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Are you trying to flatter me?" she asked, sweetly.

"You don't need to be flattered, Helen. You're already flattering enough."

Helen felt a blush rising in her cheeks. She turned and pecked him on the lips, and then leaned back, staring into his eyes. "You're sweet, you know that?"

"I try," he returned, and leaned into her lips. She returned the kiss for a few moments, but she had to lean back. Paul must have sensed something wrong, because he gave her a questioning look.

"What's wrong, Helen?"

"I…there's something I have to tell you," she said. She leaned her forehead against his.

"Ok…" Paul said. "What is it?"

"Well…it's just…we have something pretty good between us, right?" she asked, somewhat tentatively.

Paul nodded, and embraced her lightly. "We do, and I love it, and I love you."

Helen returned to the embrace for a moment, and then backed out of it. An errant tear slid down her cheek, but she made no move to wipe it away. "You have no idea how much that means to me, you know," she said.

She watched his eyes trace the trail of the tear down her cheek. He reached up and wiped it away. "What's the matter?"

Helen took a shaky breath. "Something happened to me…when I was a small girl…that you should probably know about." Paul merely raised an eyebrow.

"You see…you remember Voldemort's Death Eaters?"

Paul nodded. "Yeah, they were his henchmen, right? His followers."

"Yeah…before I came to Hogwarts, I lived in the Orphanage in Diagon Alley, because my parents were both killed when I was very small."

"I'm sorry, Helen…"

Helen shook her head. "Don't be. I'm not. Harry has been the greatest father anyone could ask for. But…anyways, one night the Death Eaters came to the Orphanage, and they, well, they came and, uh…" She trailed off. It was so hard to say what she needed to.

"They what?" Paul asked, gently.

Helen bit her lip to stop it from trembling. "They took advantage of me," she said, very, very quietly. She waited, looking at the floor, for Paul's reaction. When none came, she slowly raised her eyes to his face. The only thing she saw there was compassion.

"They…the Death Eaters, they raped you?" he queried. There was a slight amount of disbelief in his voice. Helen nodded.

Paul's eyes clouded slightly. "How old were you?"

"Six."

"You were SIX? How could they do that?" he asked, in utter disbelief, this time. There was also some anger there.

Helen shrugged her shoulders. "I stopped trying to justify it long ago." She locked eyes with Paul. "I just felt like I had to tell you," she stated, and then looked away again.

Paul was silent for a while; Helen could here each individual tick of the clock on the mantle, and to her, they each felt like an eternity. She wished he would say something—anything.

He finally cleared his throat and said, "Why didn't you tell me before, Helen?"

Helen let out a quiet noise of frustration. "I don't know…I guess it's because I've always been ashamed of it…"

"Why would _you_ be ashamed?" he asked.

She curled her hands into fists. "Because I felt soiled, alright! You have no idea what it's like to be taken advantage of like that, and how it feels afterward to know you can never get that back," she said. She could feel the tears coming, but she didn't want to cry. It was not what she wanted at the moment.

"No, you're right…I don't. But I do know that it's ridiculous to feel ashamed. You did nothing wrong—there's nothing you could have done. No one will think any less of you because of it," he said, and gently held her face in his hands. He turned her head so she was looking at him.

"I don't know what you're feeling, but I know that you don't have to be ashamed with me. You're still the same smart, beautiful, and funny Helen that I've always known."

Helen didn't respond. She couldn't. She had been so afraid that his reaction would be entirely opposite that she'd never imagined how good it could have felt to have him accept the knowledge with an open, compassionate heart. She wanted to hit herself—if only she'd had more faith in her friend.

Friend. It was an interesting word, and one that held new meaning for her. She knew they had something more than just a platonic relationship, but how much more? Could it be as much as she wanted it to be?

"Thank you…thank you, Paul. You have no idea how much that means to me," she said, and leaned into his hands. She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his palm. She felt his lips brush her forehead, and that same warm feeling from before rocketed through her.

"And you have no idea how much you mean to me," he responded. She opened her eyes, looking into his. There was a fire there, a passion, which she'd never seen before. He brought his hands down and captured hers. He brought them to his lips and kissed them.

"You've been my friend for a long time, about as long as I can remember, actually. And I couldn't imagine a life without you, Helen."

Helen couldn't hold back those tears, and the first few leaked out of her eyes. She smiled and sniffed once, and squeezed Paul's hands.

"I was hoping you'd say that," she said, and leaned forward to kiss him. She met his lips somewhere in the middle, and they were soon lost in the passion they'd both had for each for a long, long time.

----------

Harry's hand was still resting on Hermione's bare shoulder, and he gently and carefully moved a few fingers under the strap of her dress as he deepened another searing kiss. Her tongue had, at some point, worked its way into his mouth, and he was letting her work her magic with it while he explored the curves of her wonderful body with his other hand.

It traveled over the smooth satin of her black dress almost effortlessly, and Hermione arched her back when it moved across the stretched-tight part over her chest. The friction between the dress and her skin made it so that Harry could feel two certain nubs, as they had hardened considerably under his ministrations. His hand moved down over the smooth expanse of her stomach, and he felt the slight depression through the material of her dress when he reached her navel.

He moved his lips from hers along the base of her jaw, and his hand went to her back to pull her closer to him. He felt like a schoolboy again, and the giddy, heady feeling he was having was threatening to overwhelm him. He had to cool it a bit, or think of something less…enticing…if he was going to last. It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman. Hermione put her hands on his shoulders and gently pushed him back, looking him in the eye.

"What are we doing?" she asked, a little breathless. Harry couldn't help but notice how her chest looked when she took those deep breaths, straining against the black fabric. Damn women! They made coherent thought so impossible.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment and collected himself. He felt himself settle a little, and opened them. Those small speckles in her irises were staring back at him, and he realized that he noticed them at the oddest times.

"What we both want to," was how he finally responded. Hermione's face remained impassive for a moment, and then a warm, loving glow came into her eyes and into face. She gave him the most beautiful smile he'd ever seen, and leaned in to kiss him once again. She was only on his lips for a moment, though, because she was soon trailing kisses along his jaw and down his neck. Harry's hands went to the straps of her dress once again, and he slowly slid them over the apices of her shoulders and down her upper arms. She shifted position slightly, and the dress soon fell away from her bra-clad bosom. Her fingers went to the buttons of his shirt, and she was working them apart as Harry pushed her dress down further, revealing her smooth, tanned stomach.

She worked the last button apart and then, with her palms across his chest, pushed the shirt off of him. He shivered against her warm touch, and he felt his pectorals contract at the sensations of her palms rubbing over his nipples. She then stood abruptly, and Harry watched with salacious eyes as the dress fell down her body. She was left in her bra and a barely-there pair of knickers. Harry stood as well, and Hermione's hands immediately went to his belt. He clenched his jaw against the sensations flooding through his body—Merlin! He wasn't even undressed yet.

Harry stepped out of his pants, trying to ignore Hermione's giggle at the tent in his boxers, and stepped close to her to embrace her. She latched onto him and lifted herself from the floor, wrapping her arms and legs around him.

She looked into his eyes once again. "We've always loved each other, haven't we?"

"I think so," was all he said, and leaned forward to meet her lips. Very slowly, her hands found their way down his body, over his muscular frame, and slipped past the waistband of his boxers. Harry moaned slightly as he felt her grip him, and she renewed the kiss with a gusto that was matched by the back-and-forth motion her hand had taken up. Harry couldn't remain standing for very long…not when she was doing that to him. Very carefully, so as to not disturb her actions, he carried her into the bedroom of the suite. She let herself down and stood back, smiling mischievously.

"I think it's time to remove _those_," she said, and waved her hand. Harry's boxers vanished. Hermione gave an appreciative nod at what she saw.

"Magical strength…physical strength…and now this? Very impressive, Mr. Potter," she said, and giggled at the blush that Harry knew was in his cheeks. However, two could play at that game… He waved his hand, and her bra and knickers disappeared.

She just put her hands on her hips, exposing herself a little to him. Harry liked what he saw—there was no doubt about that. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Now I'll never know if you're bushy _everywhere_," he stated, and then laughed at the redness that rose in her cheeks. Payback was fun. She swung her hips a little as she moved toward him, and gripped him once again.

"Be careful, Harry…you never know what a witch like me could do," she stated, and then promptly kneeled in front of him. Harry watched her eye him for a moment, and then she leaned forward, capturing him in her exquisite mouth.

----------

Helen was in heaven—this is what it felt like to be loved and cared for, in the ultimate sense of the word. She let Paul slowly push her down on the couch, and met his demanding lips in a hungry kiss of her own, pushing her tongue in to meet his. They dueled each other for moment, and her hands slid up his back, under his shirt. One of his hands went to the strap of her dress and slid it slowly down. She wasn't wearing a bra, and soon one of her breasts was exposed.

His lips moved away from hers, down her neck, across her clavicle, and over the swell of her breast. He captured the nipple with his mouth and gave it expert attention that had her heart racing, her back arching, and pleasurable waves cascading down to her core. She could feel a certain part of his anatomy pressing against one of her legs, but she welcomed it—to her, it meant she was still desirable and that what happened to her hadn't tainted her. She pulled up on his shirt, and he leaned back to let her pull it off completely. He pulled off the other strap, and leaned down to give some attention to the other pink nub, which was desperately in need of some. It was fairly throbbing.

She pressed her breast into his mouth, arching her back some more, and grazed his back with her fingernails as another wave of pleasure passed through her. This felt so good…but she needed more. She needed it all. She lifted his head and looked him in the eyes, and bit her lip.

"What is it?" he panted. His voice was laced with passion.

"Do you really want to do this? You know…all of it?" she asked, and she could hear that same lust in her voice. It made it slightly husky.

"If you want to," he replied, and smiled at her. "If you want to, then yes, I do. If you don't, then we won't."

Helen shook her head. "No, I do want to." She smiled back at him. "I love you."

"And I love you," he said, and stood up, pulling her with him. She let the dress fall down, revealing her in nothing more than a small pair of knickers. She reached out and undid the button of Paul's pants, and he stepped out of them. She eyed the bulge there favorably—it wasn't really that important, but the more the better. Her cheeks warmed at her own thoughts, and she stepped to Paul, reattaching her lips to his. His hands went to her firm, round butt, and squeezed slightly. Her legs wobbled slightly as a surge of pleasure sped through her.

She tentatively brought a hand down between them, grasping the waistband of his boxers, and pulled them down. As they fell to the floor, she felt him spring up against her thigh, and she smiled into her kiss. He moved a hand from her rear and took the tiny waistband of her knickers in his hand, and pulled it down as well. She stepped out of them, and moved her lips along his jaw to his neck. She shivered in gratification as she felt his fingers lightly graze over her most sensitive area. She bent slightly and worked her lips down his chest, stopping for a moment to tweak his nipple with her teeth, and then continued down. His member came into focus, and she appraised it with a critical eye for a moment.

"You could satisfy a lot of girls with this thing," she said, and then blushed at the audacity of her own words. Paul seemed to be embarrassed as well.

"Errr…thanks," he said, "but I only want to please you."

She growled slightly in her throat, out of some sort of animal passion, and leaned forward, trapping him in the grasping, sucking wetness of her mouth.

----------

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and considered everything that had happened in the last several months. The smooth, almost routine flow of time had been interrupted, and he had Hermione to thank for that. And he really did want to thank her, because he had wanted Harry to find some happiness before he died. He thought that that was why he'd lasted as long as he had, because he knew that his job in this world wasn't finished until he'd gotten Harry onto the right path. He'd made excellent progress in the past ten years, but there'd always been something missing…and Hermione seemed to be it.

He couldn't lie to himself, though. At first, he'd been very reluctant about her coming back at all, because he didn't want Harry to revert to the person he'd become during her last few months in Britain ten years before, but those fears had been proved unfounded. She and him had reached some kind of solace in Sicily, and though they were dancing around each other now, he was sure they'd eventually come together.

There was something weird about that…because ever since Hermione had come back, the magic in the castle had felt slightly unsettled. It was almost as if it was in limbo, waiting for something to happen to solidify the bond Dumbledore knew Harry and Hermione had.

But that wasn't it. There was another part of that magic that was related to someone else, and Dumbledore was pretty sure that person was Helen. For a few weeks now, that had also been unsettled, at times more violent than Harry's or Hermione's ever felt. He guessed that it had something to do with her past traumas, but he had faith in Harry as a father to her, so he did not ask her about it.

And finally, there was one more thing. The weather had been bad lately, which wasn't altogether unusual—it happened—but it had been bad for _so long_ now. This wasn't a normal cold front, or just a passing storm. It had been like this for weeks. Dumbledore couldn't exactly discern what it was, but something about it felt abnormal. There was no magical feel to it, but it was almost as if the weather was reacting to something abnormal, and therefore it was acting irregular.

Tonight, however, two pieces of the puzzle seemed to be settling. The feeling related to Harry and Hermione was ebbing away, being replaced by something much more warm, or even appealing. He guessed that it was the feelings they'd had for each other for a long time, but had never been able to accept. He couldn't explain it, because it seemed to be rather sudden, but he welcomed it. If they finally got past whatever final hurdle was between them, he wished them the happiest lives they could ever want. They were both extraordinary people with unfortunately hard pasts, and they deserved some peace.

And that went for Helen as well. Something in the way the castle reacted to her magic was settling too, and he was happy for her. She was just as extraordinary, with a just as hard past, and she needed some happiness and peace in her life as well. Harry was an excellent father, with an unmatched capacity to love and understand, but that wasn't all she needed. She needed to find love of a different kind, and it seemed like she might have been doing that. If she was getting over whatever had been bothering her, then perhaps she had found someone to share her awesome intellect and classical beauty with.

But if those two pieces were settling, the third seemed to be doing the opposite. Dumbledore couldn't explain it, but the unease he felt connected with the weather seemed to be growing. Whatever was causing it, if anything actually was, must be coming to a head at the moment, because there was an inexplicable sense of disquiet. It was unnatural, that was what bothered him. The world had been at peace for so long, and as he knew, history was cyclical—there was bound to be another conflict sooner or later. He just hoped that it wasn't nearly as trying or tragic as the last one had been.

He was very old, and he wouldn't be around for much longer. Sometime soon he'd have to sit down with Harry and make sure he wanted the responsibility of being Headmaster, as well as being the most powerful and most respected wizard in the world. He handled his fame well, but the Defense Against the Dark Arts position wasn't as open to scrutiny as the Headmaster position was.

Just as he felt sleep coming on him, as he sunk a little lower in his plush chair, the Floo roared to life. An urgent voice called his name.

"Albus? Albus!" someone yelled.

He sat upright and opened his eyes, staring into the Floo. Amos Diggory's head stared back at him, with a panic-stricken look.

"What? What is it, Amos?" Dumbledore demanded. His age melted away as he assumed the natural position as the leader of the Wizarding World. He still had some of the old fire left in him.

"There's been an attack!" Diggory shouted.

"Where? And by whom?"

"The Ministry of Magic and…well, we don't know who did it," Amos answered.

"How could you not know?" Dumbledore asked.

"It happened too fast, Albus. No one saw a thing."

"How bad is it?" the Headmaster asked. He was already formulating ideas in his head of who or what had caused, but all were a little too fantastical for his tastes. There weren't any groups radically opposed to the Ministry at the moment.

"Not as bad as it could have been, but it was very brutal. The entire atrium and lobby of the Ministry have been wiped out—there were no survivors," Diggory replied, sadly.

Dumbledore slumped in his chair for a moment. Whoever had done it had been cold and efficient. They were obviously very strong.

"Alright," Dumbledore said, collecting himself. "I'll be over there shortly." Amos nodded, and the fired died away. Dumbledore had to collect a few people before he went over there.

----------

Harry couldn't take any more and still have enough self-restraint to last, so he gently pulled Hermione up from her kneeling position. He looked lovingly into her eyes, and saw the emotion reciprocated there, and led her over to the bed. Just as he was about to lay down with her, the Floo in the room crackled to life. Hermione let out a startled gasp, Harry went red, and he immediately conjured a sheet to cover them both. He focused on the Floo angrily, but that changed into embarrassment when he saw his clearly uncomfortable Headmaster and colleague staring back at him.

"Er…" Dumbledore started, and then cleared his throat. "I'm so sorry, but I need you two. There's been an attack at the Ministry, and I want you two to come with me. Meet in my office when you're…dressed," he said, and the fire died out.

Silence pervaded the bedroom for a moment, which was then slowly broken by Hermione's giggles and Harry's laughs, which soon turned uproarious. They both sobered, though, as the Headmaster's words hit them.

"Well, I'm sorry, but it looks like we'll have to continue this another time," Harry said, unable to keep the slightly forlorn tone from his voice. Just when it had been getting good…

Hermione winked at him, and then squeezed his still rock-hard member for good measure. "Don't worry; we will," she said. They both began to get dressed, although Harry to wait a few moments for his…excitement…to wane.

----------

Helen moaned as intense sensations wormed their way through every nerve of her body, and she pressed Paul's head into her as he worked with his tongue against her most sensitive spot. She didn't know that something could feel so good, and she didn't want him to stop. She arched her back and bit back a scream as the pressure broke free, and she felt her muscles clench over and over again as she flew along on a high she had never known before. She grasped the sheets within her fists, breathing deeply as the feelings slowly ebbed away.

She looked down at Paul once she had regained her composure, and noticed that the ever-present desire in his eyes was even more pronounced. She just nodded to him, and watched as he stood up. Before anything further could happen, though, the Floo roared to life. She panicked for a moment, and conjured a sheet around Paul and then one over herself. She sat up to glare at whoever had decided to Floo her, but that changed to morbid embarrassment when she saw that it was Dumbledore. He looked embarrassed as well.

"What is with you and your father?" he mused, more to himself, it seemed. He shook his head. "I'm very, very sorry, but I need you, Helen. There's been an attack at the Ministry, and I would like you to accompany me there. Please meet in my office." He nodded to Paul. "Mr. Lowell," he said, and then the fired died out.

"Please tell me that didn't just happen," Paul said, but Helen could here the amusement in his voice.

"It did," Helen said, but then her mind went to what Dumbledore had said. An attack? What could that mean?

"I'm sorry…we can try this again tomorrow night," Helen said, sure what there was a twinkle in her eye.

Paul smiled back at her. "I look forward to it."

----------

Harry tandem Apparated Hermione and himself into Dumbledore's office. Before he had a chance to talk to the Headmaster, Helen Apparated in as well. He noticed her cheeks had some color in them.

"Again…to all of you…I'm sorry about that," Dumbledore said, clearly still a little embarrassed.

Harry was about to tell Albus there was no harm done, but Helen beat him to it. "Don't worry about it, Albus. It's nothing that can't be continued later…" she trailed off, and the color deepened in her face. Harry turned to her and raised an eyebrow, to which she just raised her own, and glanced at Harry and Hermione's hastily rearranged attire.

"Well…we're going to the lobby of the Ministry of Magic. Harry, you can Apparate Hermione there, and Helen and I will follow." Harry nodded, and wrapped his arms around Hermione. He watched Helen smile slightly at their closeness, and willed himself and Hermione away with a faint sigh of shifted air.


	25. Solace

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: Here's a chapter completely from Harry's POV. Some of the scenes (later in the chapter) are especially poignant for me. I hope you enjoy! Please review.**

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Chapter 25: Solace

"Merlin…" Hermione breathed. Harry could only nod in agreement. He barely noticed the arrival of Dumbledore and Helen, because his attention was too focused on what he was seeing…and he was seeing complete devastation. The upper floor of the Ministry of Magic—closest to the ground—was in ruins.

He blinked as a drop of water fell onto his face and rolled into his eye, and looked up to find the source of the annoyance. He was expecting to see the ceiling, but instead he was looking straight up into the overcast night sky. The drop was from the light rain that was falling; it was sprinkling, really, but the rain was still there. There was a hole where the ceiling should have been, about five meters wide. Harry blinked again as water splattered directly onto his pupil.

"What the…?" he said, as he rubbed the irritation away. He looked around, and saw that Helen, Hermione, and Dumbledore were equally as stunned by what they were seeing. All of it…the front desk, the statue and the fountain, the elevator shafts, the lounge…all of it was a smoking ruin. And here and there, there was grisly evidence of witches or wizards who had been in the path of the destruction…

"Was this…what are they called?" Helen asked. "Was this a bomb?" She was turning slowly around in a circle, taking in everything as she did so. Harry noticed her eyes lingered on the rather charred remains of someone for a bit longer than anything else, and he wanted to comfort her, but he knew that now was not the time.

"Muggles can't get in here," Hermione answered.

"But who's to say someone magical wouldn't use one? From everything I've read, they're fairly lethal."

"You're right, Helen, but there are certain spells that have much the same effect as a bomb would," answered Dumbledore. He had a faraway look in his eye, which had none of the usual twinkle; he seemed to be considering something.

There was a disturbance to their left, and, instinctually, Harry willed up a very strong shield around their group and micro-Apparated to stand in front of them. He saw that there was no need to worry, though, because it was just Amos Diggory, working his way through the rubble from a lower floor. The older man raised his eyebrows at Harry's casual display of power, but shook his head and turned to Dumbledore.

"All of us on the lower floors just felt the entire structure vibrate, but other than that, there was really no indication that this had happened. It wasn't until someone tried to use the elevator that we realized something had gone wrong…and…well, just look around," he said, all in one breath. He remained gazing at Dumbledore, obviously waiting for some kind of response from the venerable old wizard.

"There were no survivors? None at all?" the Headmaster queried.

Amos raised a hand. "Well, actually, there is one. Somehow, he's miraculously unscathed—a little shaken up, which is understandable, but unharmed." Amos's eyes slid to one of the corpses, and then back to Dumbledore's face. "He was the _only_ one, though."

"We need to talk to him," Dumbledore replied.

"Alright…he's at the emergency medical care station five floors down. You all can Apparate there if you want," Amos said.

Dumbledore looked at the three young people with him, and Harry noticed he lingered on his face longer than either Hermione's or Helen's. It was as if the old man was trying to say something with that gaze…

"Everyone meet down there," Dumbledore said, and just before Harry vanished, he heard him say to Amos: "And Amos, get this cleaned up—"

There was a momentary feeling of being squeezed through a space far too small, and Harry was suddenly squinting at the much brighter light in the new room. It took him a second to adjust to it, but when he did, he saw he was in a very small clinic. It was just a place that those who worked at the Ministry could go for minor emergencies.

Hermione, Helen, and Dumbledore soon joined Harry, and they stood silent for a moment, taking in their new surroundings. Hermione reached over and grabbed Harry's hand, and he squeezed it. He looked over to her and smiled, and she smiled back. Harry was sure Helen was watching them, and he didn't even need to look to know that Dumbledore witnessed their little interplay. Dumbledore had witnessed a lot more, though…so it's not like there was some subtle meaning in it. They were just drawing comfort from each other.

A door opened to their left, and a Healer beckoned the four of them through. They soon found themselves in a small examination room, standing across from a table, upon which a young wizard sat. He had a very vacant gaze; his eyes had no luster and they were not focused on anything in particular. His skin was pale and his hair was plastered to his head. Harry thought it was a pretty pitiable image, and he felt bad for this young man. He had undoubtedly just witnessed something terribly horrific, and he probably knew that he was the only survivor. On top of those images, which would be indelibly burned into his mind, he most likely had some survivor's guilt.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Excuse me…" He looked to the Healer.

"His name is Jonathan Stevens."

"Excuse me, Mr. Stevens," Dumbledore said, trying to get the attention of the young man. He remained motionless, staring at nothing…saying nothing.

"Mr. Stevens!" Dumbledore said, a little more forcefully. There was a flicker of movement from his eyes, and his right arm twitched a little. Harry watched as Jonathan slowly came back to reality from wherever he had been; his eyes slid over to Dumbledore's face. A look of confusion settled over his features, and he knitted his brows.

"Albus…Dumbledore?" he queried. Albus merely nodded, and waited for Jonathan to continue speaking.

"Why are you…why are you here?" he asked. His voice was shaky, but a bit distant, and Harry presumed that the man was in shock.

"Mr. Stevens…" Dumbledore started. "Jonathan," he tried again, with a little more compassion, "can you tell us what happened here tonight?" Harry, Helen, and Hermione just stood by, silent, and let Dumbledore do all the questioning. They would undoubtedly be discussing it later, but for now, Dumbledore was running the show.

"What…happened?" Jonathan echoed, clearly confused as to what Dumbledore was talking about. His shock must have been incredibly deep, if the trauma was already blocking itself from his mind.

Dumbledore approached him and gently placed a wrinkled, wizened old hand on his shoulder. With the other hand, he turned Jonathan's face toward his by the chin. The Headmaster smiled gently into his face.

"Yes, Jonathan. I know this is hard for you, but I need you to help me here. I need you to describe what happened up in the atrium for me. Can you do that for me?"

A pained look came over Jonathan's face, as if the images were rushing back into him, and he faltered for a moment. Dumbledore strengthened his grip, both on his shoulder and on his chin, and held him up from falling.

"No…no, Jonathan. None of that. We're all here now. See," Dumbledore said, looking over his shoulder at Harry, "back there is Harry Potter. No one can hurt you now. Alright?"

Harry felt very odd. Dumbledore had just told the wizard that they were all safe because Harry was there, but in reality the Headmaster, Helen, _and_ himself were capable of incredible feats of magic. Hermione wasn't weak, but she couldn't reach that next level. Harry new he was the most powerful of the four of them, but he had no idea by how much. Was Dumbledore implicitly hinting that he knew, and that it was by a lot? Or was Harry reading too much into it?

Jonathan looked past Dumbledore and saw Harry, and just stared at him for a moment. Just as Harry began to grow uncomfortable under his gaze, he looked back to Dumbledore and slowly nodded. He took a deep breath.

"Now, what happened?" Dumbledore tried again.

Jonathan's voice was slightly less shaky as he started: "I…I was just sitting at my desk—I'm the guard who checks wands—when it all happened. There was a great crashing noise…it was terrible…"

"What did it sound like?" Dumbledore prompted.

"It sounded like air was ripping itself apart. That's the only way I can describe it. And then…and then I'm not sure, exactly. I think all the lights went out…but, in any case, everything went black. Not black as in…like it is outside at night," he said, thoughtfully, with a firmer voice, "but totally black. Pitch black."

Harry saw Dumbledore raise an eyebrow, and he did not ask another question for a few moments. As the silence was about to stretch on into awkward standards, the Headmaster refocused on Jonathan, who had been looking at him expectantly.

"And what did you do?"

"Well, I had fallen off my stool when the noise happened, because I was startled. I was half under the desk at that point…and I think that's what saved my life," he finished, quietly.

"Why?" Dumbledore asked, gently.

"There was a…wind…or something, that ripped through the entire place, smashing everything and killing everyone else. My desk was partially blown apart, but part of the panel in the front remained, and I guess that's what saved me."

"A wind?"

"Yeah, I mean, I guess so. There's no other way to describe it. Like I said, everything was black, so whatever it was, I couldn't tell. It was some sort of pressure…almost like a wave of pressure."

"Hmm…" Dumbledore mused, and let go of Jonathan. "Thank you very much, Jonathan. I think you have earned a few days off. You should go home and get some rest," he said, and turned toward Harry and the two others. He inclined his head to the door, and they followed the old man out. He turned to them.

"Meet back in my office—we need to discuss a few things," he said. He turned and strode away, in the direction of an office, leaving the three of them alone. Harry turned to Hermione and Helen and raised an eyebrow.

"What do you two think?"

Helen shrugged, and Hermione pursed her lips. After a moment, she said, "It sounds like it was done by one person." Helen turned to her.

"How can you tell?"

"Well…did you see the point of entry when we were up there? It was a hole in the ceiling—if there was a whole host of them, why wouldn't they just blast the whole roof apart? Also, if it was more than one person, why did they stop at the top floor? It seems like whatever that…pressure wave…was, it was pretty powerful. Why wouldn't they continue on and maximize the damage?"

Harry and Helen had no answer, and just shrugged. Hermione shook her head. "No…it was probably one person. That doesn't explain the darkness, though." She lifted a hand, indicating she didn't know. Harry moved up to Hermione and wrapped his arms around her waist, and pulled her to him.

"I _hardly_ think this is either the time or the place for that, Mr. Potter," she said, even though she leaned into his embrace.

"Do you not want me to Apparate you back to the Headmaster's office?" he asked, with a laugh in his voice. Helen smiled at the two of them, and Disapparated with a murmur of air. Hermione pecked his lips and smiled innocently.

"If you're sure that's _all_ you want to do, then let's go," she said. Harry didn't need to be told twice, and the next thing they knew they were both standing in front of Dumbledore's desk. He was already sitting in his chair.

"How nice of you two to join us," he said, with a slight smile. He motioned the three of them to the chairs facing his desk, and they all sat.

"So," he started, "this has been an interesting night so far."

Harry raised his eyebrows at the old man. "You should be careful with the Floo network, Albus…you never know what you might see on the other end." Harry noticed that Helen looked to him with narrowed eyes, but he didn't know why.

"Ahem…yes, I believe I have learned that lesson sufficiently enough tonight," Dumbledore said, and then looked pointedly at all three of them. Harry noticed that he included Helen in that telling gaze; perhaps Helen had been similarly…involved at the time Dumbledore had come calling. That would have been an interesting coincidence. Come to think of it, he had vaguely felt Paul's magical signature in the castle earlier…but Harry didn't need or want to think about that. He'd already had that conversation with her, so what she did was her own business.

"Anyways," the Headmaster said, moving on, "what do you three make of what happened?"

"It was most likely one person," Hermione said, repeating what she'd told Harry and Helen just a few minutes before. Dumbledore nodded.

"Yes, I reached that same conclusion. So…it was the work one person. Who could it be, though? Or, a better question, I suppose, is why would someone do that?" He looked to Harry. "I can't think of anyone who blatantly opposes the Ministry at the moment."

Harry pondered the situation for a second. As Defense teacher, as well as being the most powerful wizard in the world, he was kept relatively well informed of any threats to Wizarding society. At the moment, however, there really weren't any. The Wizarding World, especially in Britain, was enjoying a time of almost complete peace. Sure, there were still petty crimes here and there, but there hadn't been a homicide or rape in months now—that anyone knew about, anyway. So no, he couldn't think of anyone either.

"Neither can I, Albus. This doesn't fit the current mood in Britain." He stopped. Something about what he said reminded him of the weather, but it was only a fleeting connection, so he continued. "It all seems rather sudden, and rather violent. I haven't seen that kind of destruction since…well, since the Second War."

"Could there be any Death Eaters left over, or anyone connected to Voldemort?" Helen asked. She looked between the three others in the room, coming to rest on her father's face. He saw that her face was calm, but he could see something in her eyes that made his heart ache for her. There was slight apprehension there—she would never completely be over what happened to her. Even though she could prevent that sort of thing from happening again, with relatively no effort, there would always be emotional scarring. Harry hated that there were people in the world that could do things that hurt their victims for so long after.

"No, I don't think so," Dumbledore replied. "There has been no activity on that front for nearly eight years; the last we ever heard of them was that the few who were left—mostly people who had been away from Britain when Voldemort fell—were quietly leaving that life and starting again elsewhere, so as to avoid the consequences. There hasn't been even a whisper on that front."

"Was it just a random act of violence?" Harry asked?

"Are there such things as 'random acts of violence'?" Dumbledore asked. "Most have some sort of purpose, sane or not, and one would think an attack on the _Ministry of Magic_ is supposed to mean something." Harry shrugged in response.

"What about the darkness?" Hermione asked. Harry could tell that was bothering her very much, because that was the second time she had brought it up. It didn't make any sense to him, but he wasn't sure if it was important. Most likely the lights had just been extinguished…

"That's another interesting point, Hermione. There is a strong possibility that the lights just went out, and our panicked and shocked Mr. Stevens resorted to hyperbole to describe it, but we cannot be sure." Dumbledore's gaze slid to Harry's for a moment, and again Harry got the sense that the old man was trying to hint at something. Harry furrowed his brows. But what could it be? Was he missing something?

So there had been an absolute blackness, supposedly. Did Harry know of anything that was absolutely black? Had he ever encountered anything like that? He supposed that Voldemort's heart must have been pitch black, but conjecture like that wasn't getting him anywhere. There was one thing, he realized, with widening eyes, which he did know of. Dumbledore must have seen the look on his face, because he nodded toward him.

"Alright…well, I think we've said about as much as we can tonight. If this is just an isolated incident, then I don't think we have much to worry about. If it happens again…then we'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it. Have a good night," he said, and the three of them started to get up. Harry lingered by his chair, and Hermione gave him a questioning look.

"I'll be right out…I just need to talk to Albus for a moment," he said, and Hermione nodded, although she looked curious. She and Helen exited the office, and Harry turned to the Headmaster.

"So, Harry, I assume you made the same connection that I made?"

"I believe so, Albus, but…that's impossible, isn't it? Surely we would know if there was someone else…"

Dumbledore's gaze went to the window, upon which rain was pattering away again, and Harry saw the old man's shoulders slump. He was so old…

"Would we? I don't know…it does seem farfetched, at best, but can we rule it out?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I suppose not."

"Best be on your toes, Harry, just in case," Dumbledore said. Harry stared hard at him for another moment, and then slowly nodded. He would be; he was ready for anything. There was raw power in him that he'd never tapped into before, and if the time came when he had to, he would. He didn't think it would, though. He didn't think what he and the Headmaster were talking about was what had happened tonight. At least…he hoped so.

Harry inclined his head. "Have a good night, Albus," he said, and turned away. His peripheral vision caught Dumbledore removing his glasses, setting them on his desk, and reaching back up to rub his eyes. All sixteen and something decades of the old man's life hit Harry at that moment, and he became angry at what had happened.

The twilight of Dumbledore's life was waning, and for the past ten years or so, he had been able to live it in relative peace, free of the monumental worry the Second War had put upon him. Now though, just when it had seemed to Harry that the Headmaster would get to live out his last few years of life in complete peace, something, or someone, was apparently threatening that. Harry shook his head as he stepped off the revolving stairs into the corridor beyond. It didn't make any sense. Who would be doing this now?

----------

Winter came very early. The first snowfall was during the last week of October, and the season never looked back. It didn't snow every day, or even every other day, but the sun didn't show itself once. By the time December rolled around, Harry began to wonder if he would ever see the sun again. He was mercilessly tempted to Apparate to Sicily on some weekend, if only to escape the relentless cold and glumness for a few short days. He never did, though, and he could see that the depressing environmental conditions were also wearing on others.

Whenever he passed someone outside, he noticed that they were most often looking toward the sky, with a frustrated or whimsical look on their face—mad at the weather, or remembering fondly what the sun on their face felt like. Harry had never experienced anything like it in his life, and he hoped that he never would again, whenever it decided to stop.

There never was another incident like the one that had occurred at the Ministry, and as time rolled on, it fell further and further away from his every day thoughts. His teaching, his developing relationship with Hermione, Helen's seemingly improved state of mind toward that very relationship, and the goddamn weather took up his thoughts.

It was 'developing' because, ever since they had been interrupted that night in September, another opportunity to explore the more physical aspects of their feelings for each other just hadn't presented itself. They had tried, on several occasions, but it always seemed like they were called away at the last second, or interrupted by something supposedly more important. It frustrated them both, but they took it with a grain of salt. It had taken them so long to even realize what they felt for each other, that they could stand waiting a little longer for that ultimate step. And, as Hermione had put it one time after a student had ruined their plans for an intimate evening, the longer they waited, the more fulfilling it would be when it finally happened.

As the holiday season came about, Harry, Hermione, and Helen made plans to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas away from Britain. Dumbledore was visiting his brother, so they wouldn't feel sorry about not being there with him, and Britain was just too cold and overcast for them. They had to get away for a few days.

The students left without much ado, and soon the castle was cold, empty, and drafty. There were small piles of snow near some of the windowsills, which only added to the sense of isolation and desolation. Harry would stare at those piles, those cold mounds of frozen water, and think vaguely of all the time that had passed since he'd last been as content as he was now. He had a good job, a loving daughter, and a solid relationship with a wonderful woman. The weather was only a distraction, really; he couldn't complain too much.

He would shake his head and wonder where the introspection came from, and then continue on with his day, forgetting those thoughts among the myriad others in his mind. The final few days before he, Helen, and Hermione left for Sicily were filled with last minute preparations and end-of-semester grading, but the time eventually came for them to depart. They said their farewells, and one by one Disapparated from Scotland.

Harry lingered for a moment, his eyes on the lone light burning from the window where he knew the Headmaster's office to be, and silently wished the man a peaceful and happy Christmas. Just before he Disapparated, he noticed that it had begun snowing again, but then he was gone. A lone flake wafted down through the space he had just occupied.

----------

Harry exited through the glass door, and moved to lean against the railing of the veranda of his villa. The December Sicilian sunset captured his gaze for a few moments, and he smiled and breathed deep the crisp, cool evening air. This was the life: it was the middle of winter and he could be comfortable in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He curled the toes of his bare feet against the edge of the veranda, and swept his eyes away from the sunset toward the beach.

The lonely visage of Hermione next caught his attention, and he gazed wonderingly at the sight. She was dressed in white slacks and a beige t-shirt; she was standing down near the water, facing toward the Mediterranean. One side of her was lit up in orange from the sun, and the other was dark, contrasting the two sides of her like the two sides of their relationship. At one time, they had been bitter, but now they were full of love for each other.

A wind swept up, and Harry watched as her hair cavorted around her head and her slacks whipped against her legs. She brought her arms up and wrapped them around herself, and rocked slightly with the breeze. Harry turned and started to make his way down the stairs to the beach. The stone felt cool against the soles of his feet, so the slightly warmer sand was a welcome change. Hermione hadn't moved, so he continued walking toward her. The sound of the waves crashing against shore grew louder and louder as he approached her; he heard the cries of several gulls wheeling overhead, and the wind was a constant sigh in his ears.

He came to rest by Hermione's side, and slipped an arm around her shoulders. She stood still for a moment, and then slowly leaned into him. They stood like that for several minutes, watching as the light faded from the day, as the colors of the sunset withdrew from the water they were staring at.

"Where's Helen?" she asked.

"She's relaxing somewhere inside," he replied, and squeezed Hermione a little tighter to him. She felt so good, resting against him like that. He'd forgotten how fine it felt to have someone in his arms, and now that he had been given the opportunity to remember, he didn't ever want to forget.

"This is so much nicer than Scotland," she said, a bit wistfully. The only colors left on the water were blues and purples, and they were receding quickly. Harry looked to the west and caught the last of the lighter hues as they melted from the sky.

"I'll say," he replied, and another silence ensued. As the day faded completely, Harry turned his head slightly and laid a lingering kiss on Hermione's cheek. It was cool from the wind. She unwrapped her arms from herself and placed them around Harry's chest, so they were mutually intertwined.

"All your presents wrapped?" Harry asked, playfully, rocking the two of them back and forth a bit. He felt Hermione nod against him.

"Oh yes, all _two_ of the presents," she replied, and laughed softly. "I especially like the Christmas…er, palm tree you procured. Fits the Sicilian mood perfectly."

Harry smiled against her hair; as his eyes adjusted to the new darkness, he could see the lights from the villa were now reflected on the waters of the Mediterranean.

"I thought you might like that. It's a bit of a change from the usual Fir tree, but I think it works."

"It does," Hermione affirmed. "Wanna head back inside?"

Harry nodded. "Sure, let's go." They let their arms drop, and Harry grabbed her hand and started toward the villa. He looked over to her face, which he could make out in the light coming from the villa, and smiled at her. She smiled back, and playfully swung theirs linked arms as they walked. Harry couldn't help the laugh that escaped him. They were so carefree and easy with each other now—it was an amazing and marked contrast with how they had been just five months before. He hoped it lasted, and he would do everything in his power to make sure it did.

They climbed the steps slowly, enjoying the last remnants of the warmth from the day as it faded. As they ascended the last step, the sliding door opened and Helen stepped out. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a light jacket. She nodded to them and made her way toward the railing, leaning her back against it once there.

"Why don't we sit out here for a little while longer?" Harry asked Hermione. He saw her eyes go briefly to her bare arms, and moved his hand slightly. A jacket appeared on her. She shook her head at him for a second, and then led him over to the couch set against the villa. They sat down and leaned into each other again.

"Nice night," Helen commented, and turned around, so that her back was to them. She leaned her elbows on the railing and stared out at the dark waters.

"It is," Harry said. "Helen…why couldn't Paul be here?" he asked. He knew that they were now heavily involved, and he was happy for them. Maybe someday soon he would get to walk Helen down the aisle…that would be one of the happiest times of his life. There was no doubt about that.

"He had to be in America this year," she said.

"For Christmas?" Harry asked, a little affronted. He hated the idea of having to work his life away, and when someone told him they worked on Christmas, it just affirmed his belief that people needed to relax more often. Life was too short to always be working.

Helen nodded slowly; Harry watched as her straight brown locks swung lightly against her head. She leaned more into the railing. "Yeah, for Christmas," she sighed. "It's not that big of a deal, though…at least I get to be here with you two."

Hermione moved slightly against Harry. "You know, Helen…I never thanked you…" she trailed off.

"For what?" Helen asked, without turning around.

"For…getting past the resentment you had for what I did all those years ago," Hermione said, carefully. Helen hung her head for a moment, and then turned around to face them once again. She moved to sit across from them, in a chair set against the railing.

"It's hard to stay like that when you see how it upsets things," she said, and stared directly at Harry. There was something in her gaze that he couldn't quite place, but he thought it might have been appreciation.

"I think one of the reasons I was bitter was because I didn't know what it was really like," Helen said, and Harry could hear some insight in her voice. She was looking within herself, examining her own life and priorities, and speaking about them to Hermione and him.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked softly.

"I was afraid of…loving someone," Helen explained. "I was afraid I wouldn't be able to."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh. I didn't know what it was like…I had nothing to relate what you and my father have to. I could only see what happened in the past." Helen and Hermione were speaking directly to each other now. Harry was content to just sit back and listen.

"What made you get over your fear?"

Helen smiled to herself—she was staring at the calm waters of the pool. "Your lover," she said, and laughed softly. Harry blushed slightly, but he couldn't keep the smile off his face.

Hermione laughed as well. "I see…so it's you and Paul…?"

His daughter nodded. "It's Paul and I. We've been friends for so long now…there's no way it couldn't happen."

Hermione looked at Harry and smiled. "I know how that feels…although your father and I were…slightly…interrupted."

Harry had to say something. "You aren't calling Ginny an interruption, right?" His voice was mild, but the question was a serious one.

Hermione shook her head vehemently. Helen looked up at the both of them. "Of course not, Harry…I would never do that." Harry nodded, mollified. "I meant my stupidity."

"You mean _our_ stupidity," he corrected, and pulled her closer to him. "But, the past is the past. We have each other now, and that's all that matters. May Ginny rest in peace," he said, and looked to the starry sky. May she rest in peace, indeed. He could finally close that chapter of his life forever, or at least for as long as he was in this world. He might get the chance to explain himself to Ginny in the next life, but that would be then, and this was now. He loved Hermione.

"Yes," Hermione said.

An easy silence settled over the veranda for the next few minutes, with nothing but the cool wind blowing their hair to disturb it. Harry watched as Helen turned her head and stared down the length of the dark beach, and he saw that Hermione was now gazing at the stars. His eyes went to the pool, on which there were now a few ripples.

"I don't think I've ever seen stars so bright," Hermione said. It was the first anyone had talked in at least ten minutes.

"Hogwarts has some pretty clear nights," Harry commented. The stars did seem bright tonight, though. It was probably because it had been so long since he'd seen them.

"Hogwarts _had_ some pretty clear nights," Helen corrected, and Harry just nodded in her direction.

"Have we seen the stars since we've been back?" Hermione asked, and the parallel between his thoughts and the conversation silently amused Harry.

"I don't think so," he said, and Hermione must have heard the amusement in his voice, because she sat up a little and looked at him.

"Something funny?" she asked.

"Yeah…yeah something is. It's nice to just be able to sit here and talk about mundane things, like the stars. It's peaceful."

"Would you have it any other way?" she asked.

"I wouldn't," Helen answered, and both Harry and Hermione looked to her. Helen raised an eyebrow toward the both of them. "Well, I wouldn't."

"Neither would I," Harry said. He put his arm around Hermione and drew her close, and pecked her on the cheek.

"I think this is the first Christmas I've had outside of Britain," Helen said, after another moment.

"Umm…I think this is mine, too," Harry said.

"I wish I could say the same, but unfortunately, I can't," said Hermione. Harry noted some forlorn tones in her voice. He squeezed her shoulder.

"Come now, there must have been a good Christmas or two in the States," he said. He tried to keep his voice light—he wasn't sure if it was something Hermione necessarily wanted to talk about, or if it was something he really wanted to hear about.

Hermione sighed. "There was one…the first one…but even that one seemed strained. It was the first anniversary of Ginny's death…"

"Ah," was all Harry said. Silence again. It lasted longer this time, and before Harry knew it, he felt his lids getting heavy. The soft whisper of the breeze was hypnotizing, and if he weren't careful, he'd soon be snoozing away. The sound of Helen yawning broke his stupor, and he sat up slowly. He caught Hermione opening her eyes; it seemed like they all needed to head for bed.

"I think I'm going to go to bed," Helen said, and stood up. She nodded to Harry and Hermione, and passed through the glass door into the villa.

"I think it's about time we head there as well," Hermione said, and pulled Harry into a standing position.

"We?" Harry said, arching an eyebrow.

Hermione smacked his arm lightly. "Don't get any ideas, Mr. Potter. Tonight, we sleep. Nothing more," she said, and led him into the villa. They passed through the quiet rooms, some lit and some not, until they reached the master suite. After their nightly preparations, they settled down onto the comfortable mattress, under the satiny sheets.

"Sleep good, Hermione," Harry said, and rolled over to get comfortable. He felt Hermione moved against his back, and she draped an arm over his body. She let out a contented sigh.

"I will."

----------

Harry awoke to the scent of the Mediterranean wafting in through the open window, and noticed that he and Hermione had not moved during the night. Her arm was still draped over him, and he could still feel her warm body against his. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply the scent of the Sea and of the beautiful woman sleeping against him, and opened them again.

"Hermione," he called, softly. She stirred gently.

"Hmm?" she intoned, and rolled slightly away from him.

"Happy Christmas." He heard her exhale.

"You too, Harry. Happy Christmas."

Harry rolled over and looked at Hermione. The morning light coming through the window lay across the bed, engulfing both of them in a bright halo. Hermione looked especially spectacular, though, because it reflected brilliantly off her white nightgown.

"You're beautiful, Hermione," he said.

She smiled, staring at the ceiling. "And you're so cute," she said, and rolled toward him. Their noses were almost touching.

"Cute?" Harry asked. "What about 'rugged'? Or 'roguish'?"

Hermione brought a hand to his face; she caressed the stubble that had grown there since the previous morning, when he had last shaved. She closed the few inches between their mouths and kissed him. It was a light kiss, but Harry sensed a deep passion there. He knew she felt it from him, too.

"Cute," she affirmed, and sat up, laughing. Harry watched as she moved through the light, mouth open, teeth showing, with the laugh escaping her lungs. The light and the merriment lit up her face wonderfully, and he couldn't ask for a more perfect way to wake up on Christmas morning. Harry sat up as well, wrapping his arms around Hermione, and laid his head on her shoulder.

"I love you," he said. He felt her press her cheek against the top of his head.

"And you know I love you," she replied. "But now we have to open presents!" she exclaimed, and bounced out of bed. Her enthusiasm spread to Harry, and he felt like a schoolboy once again, bounding out of bed and down the stairs, catching that first glimpse of the pile of presents, a thousand possibilities of what they could be fleeting across his consciousness.

Except now he walked arm in arm with Hermione out of the room, and rather than down the stairs, he caught his first sight of the two presents for him through an adjacent doorway. And now…now he didn't dwell on what might be in them; rather, he felt love for the two beautiful, intelligent, and fiery women who had given him them. As Hermione and Harry entered the sitting room, they saw that Helen was already there, rocking slowly in the recliner by the glass door, which she had slid open.

"Good morning, sleepyheads," she said, and sipped what smelled like hot cocoa. Harry thought that was a good idea, and conjured two steaming cups of the sweet, warming liquid for himself and Hermione.

"Thanks," she said, and they both sat down on the sofa. She curled into him and began to sip her drink.

"Who gets the honors this year?" Harry asked.

Hermione and Helen looked to each other, and then they both looked at Harry. He rolled his eyes at them, and then lifted his hand. He levitated them one of their presents, and was soon repeating the gesture. They all got each other very small gifts—the real gift was being there, with each other, on that peaceful Christmas morning. None of them had felt that serene in a very long time.

"Thank you, kind ladies, for the wonderful gifts," Harry said. They both nodded; Hermione pecked him on the cheek.

"And thank you, Dad and Hermione, for mine."

Hermione nodded to her. "Likewise, Helen and Harry." Hermione sat up a little bit, and took a breath. "There's been something I've been meaning to ask you two."

"Oh?" Harry and Helen said at the same time.

"Yeah…I was wondering if you two might train a bit with me? Now, I know I'm nowhere near as powerful as either of you, but I wouldn't mind getting more in shape and maybe leaning how to use a sword. Can't hurt, right?"

Harry looked to Helen, and she nodded to him. "That sounds like a great idea, Hermione. We can start as soon as we return to Hogwarts."

Hermione sat back, obviously contented. "Alright. Thanks, you two."

"No problem," Helen said. She smiled at Hermione, and leaned back in her chair. Harry watched as her eyes moved to look outside. She took a sip of her hot cocoa and set it back into her lap. Hermione snuggled against him, resting her head on his shoulder.

This is what family was. Explicitly understanding each other with what's only implicitly stated or observed. Harry smiled, took a sip of his cocoa, and rested his cheek against Hermione's brown hair.

----------

The three of them returned to Scotland later that day to a swirling snowstorm. The weather had apparently decided to envy their absence, and grew worse during it. It didn't let up for several days, and when it finally did, there were several feet of snow on the ground. Surprisingly, though, it warmed up a bit after that, even though it remained overcast, and the snow was gone by the middle of January. It didn't snow again—it only rained and iced, and made more miserable weather than if it had just snowed.

Classes continued on their daily path, and Harry, Hermione, and Helen fell into their routines with a slightly renewed vigor. Their brief respite in Sicily had provided a necessary solace for their frayed nerves, and had warmed some important part of their souls. Paul and Helen grew closer, and Harry was glad to see that Helen was almost always happy. He loved to see her smile and hear her laugh, and that was what she was doing a lot of now.

Speaking of being happy…Hermione and him finally had the chance to consummate their relationship, and it was every bit as spectacular as they were both expecting. Harry found out that Hermione was surprisingly flexible, in interesting ways, and Hermione found out what being the most powerful man on earth did for one's stamina. In short, they satisfied each other in every way, both physically and emotionally.

Harry and Helen started to train Hermione in some of the physical skill sets they had both learned, and she surprised them both by picking them up rather quickly. She was enthusiastic and easy to teach; she accompanied Harry for part of his runs every day, and already he could see improvement. Maybe some day in the near future she would be able to take him on in physical combat—she was nearly as fast as Helen, but she needed to hone her reflexes quite a bit.

As winter passed into spring, the weather passed from one monotonous phase into another. Instead of icy rain, it was now just rain. Harry thought it might have been getting worse, but he supposed that might just be his annoyance at how long it had been going on. He had had enough of it. He wanted some sun.

But, he couldn't dictate the weather, so he'd just have to live with it. He did have one thing to look forward to, though: Hermione and him were going to be teaching a joint Defense – Transfiguration class during the third week of April. He knew the students were looking forward to it, as well. It was going to be great fun.


	26. Judgment Cometh

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: '_Only the dead have seen the end of war._' –Plato**

----------

Chapter 26: Judgment Cometh

"Seems to be worse today," Hermione commented, and glanced toward the low-hanging dark clouds. They were producing very heavy rain, which was blown around by a heavy wind, and her and Harry were trying to run through it at the moment. They had been getting up before breakfast and running together for the past few weeks, and today was no exception.

She pressed against the muddy ground with her trainers, digging out as much traction as she could, and increased her pace a little. Harry kept with her stride for stride, and let her dictate the speed of the run, as he had been doing. She passed a hand over her face, trying to wipe the water away long enough to see clearly, but it was futile. It was just raining too hard, whipping around too much.

"Seems so," Harry said, and she heard him grunt a bit as a particularly strong gust of wind buffeted them from his side. He blocked her from it somewhat, but she still felt the errant currents snake past her body.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, and hopped a bit, before returning to her normal stride. Even though she was soaked through, puddles still felt cold, and she had just ran through the deepest one yet. She heard Harry chuckle.

"If this doesn't let up soon," he mused, "all of Hogwarts' grounds will be a lake." As he said it, he leapt lightly over another puddle that looked particularly deep, and she saw him raise a hand to wipe water from his face, as well. She enjoyed running, but this was not fun. It felt like she was battling the elements, and that was taking more energy than the running.

"If it doesn't let up soon, I'm permanently moving to Sicily," Hermione said, sarcastically, albeit with an ounce of truth. After that Christmas they spent there, she thought more and more about it every day—if she and Harry didn't have great jobs, she probably would have already suggested it.

"You've barely been back a year," Harry joked, but Hermione didn't laugh. It wasn't that it didn't hold humor; rather, it was that she was in no mood to laugh. She was wet, cold, and tired, and Harry had just unwittingly splashed her with more muddy water than she ever cared to see again.

"I'll just be glad when we can get to that class today," she said. "Is this the first time in Hogwarts' illustrious history that a Defense and Transfiguration class have been taught jointly?"

She saw Harry look sidelong at her, as if he was considering her present state of mind, and wisely said nothing about her lack of mirth. And if he splashed her one more time…she might just have to try those new martial arts skills he'd showed her on him.

"Probably," he said, and then sputtered for a moment. Rainwater had probably worked its way into his open mouth when he uttered the word. He cleared his throat. "Probably," he tried again. "It's not exactly sanctioned, you know."

Hermione shrugged, or made some motion that was as close to a shrug one could make while running. "So? What do we care?"

She noticed Harry was smiling. "I don't, but I thought you might…you know, being a stickler for the rules, and all."

Hermione smiled also. "Fuck the bloody rules," she said, and then increased her speed once again. It was a little longer, this time, before Harry fell into synch beside her once again; maybe her words had shocked him?

"I hope you don't talk to your students like that," he said. She could hear the wit in his tone.

"Like what?" she asked, demurely.

"Like—FUCK!" Harry cried, and although it was probably along the lines of what he had originally intended to say, he surely hadn't intended to fall on his ass in a rather dirty looking puddle. Hermione had to laugh this time—she couldn't control it. Here was the world's most powerful person, sitting a pool of water that almost covered his legs, looking like he had no idea how he'd gotten there.

And then Harry splashed her; or rather, engulfed her. She hadn't discerned so much as a muscle moving, but somehow half of the water in the puddle had ended up on her. She stood there staring at him with an open mouth.

"Careful," he said, as he stood up, "you don't want that mud running down your face to get into your mouth. Probably won't taste great."

Hermione slowly passed a hand over her face, most likely smearing said mud, and bent down. She scrutinized the ground for a moment, grabbed what looked the muddiest bit of sludge she could reach, and straightened up. Harry just arched his eyebrow at her.

"I _know_ you don't want to do that—we're supposed to be running," he said. She hefted the dripping pile in her hand for moment, glanced to Harry, and then reared back and flung it at him.

He gracefully sidestepped it, and turned his head to watch it arch and resoundingly plop back into the ground. He looked at her once again, and this time both eyebrows were raised.

Hermione stamped her foot, which unfortunately did nothing but splash more muck. "Why do your reflexes have to be so good, Mr. Potter?"

"So I can avoid the mud thrown by insane witches," he deadpanned with a shrug.

"Insanity is in the eye of the beholder," Hermione retorted. Harry just rolled his eyes, and then looked to the sky. He squinted against the rain hitting his face.

"Why don't we just stop for today? We're both cold and wet—let's just go take a shower," he suggested.

"Shower? Or _showers_?" she asked. He just cocked his head at her. "What? You think you're going to get to shower _with_ me after calling me insane?" She watched in satisfaction as his mouth dropped open. He was about to protest, but she cut him off.

"Save it," she said. "You can redeem yourself by exceeding my expectations today in class." She turned her back on him and started for the castle, but the last thing she saw was the priceless look of someone deprived of something they were looking forward to. She smirked to herself, and pressed forward through the rain toward the castle.

----------

"Did you decide where we're going to do this yet?" Harry asked, as he piled some breakfast onto his plate. He looked at Hermione, who was freshly showered, and quirked an eyebrow.

She finished chewing and swallowed before responding: "Yeah, I think so…I was thinking here would be a good place." She swept the Great Hall with her eyes.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, it's spacious…"

"And hard to damage," Hermione said, with a sideways look at him. He shrugged—that depended on the spell and who was doing the casting. He could bring the whole room down fairly easily, if he wanted to. Not that he would, though.

"Alright, sounds like a plan."

"Which years are you doing this for?" Dumbledore asked them. He was looking at the two of them with interest.

Harry looked to Hermione; they had never really talked about that. He could see the same indecision in her gaze, so he turned to the Headmaster.

"Just the seventh years this year." He glanced at Hermione and she nodded her approval. "If all goes well, then next year we can think about expanding it to other years."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "And do you think it will go well?"

Harry shrugged, and Hermione supplied the response. "I don't see why not," she said.

"Neither do I," Dumbledore said, smiling. "I couldn't think of a better way to use the skills of two of my most talented Professors. If it does go well, I'll have to consider officially sanctioning more of them, perhaps for other subjects and years."

"Can't hurt," Harry commented. He looked up as Helen approached the table and sat down. He nodded to her, which she returned sleepily.

"Just rejoin the living?" he asked her. She just glared at him for a moment, and then placed some food onto her plate.

"Late night," she said, and proceeded to eat. Harry just raised his eyebrow.

Hermione leaned forward to look past Harry and Dumbledore at Helen. "Doing what?" she asked, barely able to hide the laugh that was threatening to escape.

Helen stopped eating mid-chew and slowly turned her head to look at Hermione. Harry sat back slightly, and he noticed Dumbledore did the same. Helen seemed grouchy this morning… Harry watched his daughter swallow slowly and then continue to stare at Hermione. Hermione just stared right back.

"Grading papers," she finally said, and smiled coyly at Hermione.

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Harry heard Hermione mumble, and he laughed. It was an easy light laugh, and it was contagious, because soon Helen, Hermione, and Dumbledore were as well.

"Are we ever going to grow up?" Harry asked, once it had subsided.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Believe me, Harry, when I say I can respond from experience to that question: nope."

Harry just smiled and shook his head. Hermione said, "I _do_ hope you've been careful with the Floos of late, Albus." She looked pointedly at the Headmaster.

"Oh, can't you forgive an old man his oversights?" he pleaded mockingly.

"As long as you can forgive us young people our…fun," Helen interjected, and smiled at the look that Harry was sure was on his face. He was happy that she had found something special with Paul, but he wasn't sure if he really wanted to hear about it—or even hear allusions to it.

"Could you imagine this conversation at seventeen?" Hermione said, thoughtfully. Harry was about to respond, but Helen beat him to it.

"How about eighteen?"

"Oh yeah…I forgot about that," Hermione said, and laughed.

"I don't know if I should be offended or not," Helen said.

"Take it as a compliment," Harry said. "You're very mature for your age…well, most of the time," he said, and stared into her eyes. He was waiting for it…would she…

Yep. There it was. She stuck her tongue out at him, to which he just shook his head. "Perhaps I need to rescind that statement?"

She shrugged, continued eating, and without looking at him, said, "Do what you will."

"I see how it is," Harry said, and turned to Hermione. "You see what I have to put up with?"

"I think she puts up with just as much, Potter," she said, and added, "as do I." Harry opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it. He turned to Dumbledore, who was just watching and listening to the conversation with amusement on his face.

"I guess us blokes have to stick together," Harry said. Instead of agreeing with him, though, the old man shook his head.

"I'd be a fool to stand against Helen and Hermione, Harry. I'm afraid you're on your own."

Harry looked at the smug faces of his daughter and girlfriend, and sighed in defeat. There were just some battles he couldn't win…no matter how hard he tried.

"Alright, alright…you two are amazing, and I bow down to your gloriousness. That satisfy you?" he asked.

Helen shrugged, and Hermione leaned over to Harry. "I might just let you in the shower later on, if we _need_ to," she whispered, hinting at perhaps greater things to come. Harry felt his face coloring a bit, and he knew he'd be distracted for the rest of the day now. He was already imagining the water rushing from the showerhead, sliding down and over the exciting, tantalizing curves of her body…

He shook his head. Now was not the time. Now he would finish his breakfast, head to his office to finish up some paper work, and then return to the Great Hall for the joint class.

He leaned over to Hermione. "I'm gonna hold you to that," he whispered in her ear. She made no outward response, but he felt a slight pulse in her magical signature. He smiled to himself. It was going to be a fun day.

----------

"So what do you want to start with?" Harry asked Hermione; he was watching the seventh years as they filed into the Great Hall, leaning against the Head Table with his arms crossed.

"You're the resident celebrity," Hermione arched. She seemed to be surveying the students as well, and he noticed that she shook her head at something.

"What is it?" he asked.

She turned to him with a raised eyebrow. "Hmm?"

"Why'd you shake your head?"

A confused look crossed briefly passed over her features. "Umm…oh…I was just noticing that some of the old House prejudices seem to still be here," she said, nodding to the students. Harry looked at them more closely, and sure enough, they were more or less divided by House. That was odd…he hadn't really noticed that in a long time. Although…perhaps it had always been there, but it just wasn't something that concerned him.

"Most of it was harmless when we were in school, Hermione," he said.

"Yeah, but—"

"I wouldn't worry about it too much," he cut her off, with a smile. She scrutinized him for a moment, and then just shrugged. She pushed herself into a standing position off of the Head Table, and called for silence. The muttering died down quickly.

"Let's get one thing straight, everyone," she said, assuming what Harry liked to call her 'stern' voice. "Today is a privilege for you all—this has never been done before. We will be showing you some things today that aren't normally taught at Hogwarts, but I'm sure you'll find them useful, if not stimulating." She looked to Harry, and he pushed himself off the Head Table as well.

"You heard the lady," he said. "If you mess around…I'll just give you to her," he said, smiling at them. It received a few laughs, and a slight glare from the bushy-haired witch standing next to him. The sudden loud hammering of rain against the windows momentarily distracted Harry, but it passed. It must have just been a particularly strong wind gust.

"Now," Harry continued, regaining his train of thought, "I want you all to stand up and pull out your wands." He watched as they did so, and noticed some looks of anticipation. He couldn't blame them, though; he probably would have found something like this very exciting as a student.

Chairs had replaced the Great Hall's tables and benches, and it was them that Harry now pointed at. "I first want to make sure that all of you can Transfigure quickly and accurately. When I say to, please turn the chair into a footstool. You will have three seconds."

Harry trusted Hermione's skill as a teacher, but if any of these students couldn't Transfigure with speed, then they wouldn't be allowed to participate. For the purposes of this lesson, they would need to be able to Transfigure successfully without a moment's hesitation.

He looked to Hermione, and she nodded at him. She understood what he was doing, and did not think that he was calling into question what she had taught them. He was merely testing their individual magical prowess.

"Ok…now!" he said, and watched as all but two students completed the task set before them. He stepped down from the Head platform and walked amongst the footstools; some were very good, intricately detailed and fine pieces of furniture; some were cruder, but they still had gotten the job done. He came to the two students, one boy and one girl, who had failed to achieve the goal.

"I'm sorry you two…but we will be conducting some dangerous exercises today, and you need to be able to do this…" At their crestfallen faces, he acquiesced slightly. He waved his hand, turning the messily Transfigured objects back into their original form.

"Alright, I'll give you both one more shot—but you must do it this time." He nodded to them, and they tried once again. The boy was successful this time, but the girl struggled. Harry watched it take the shape of footstool, start to fade back, but then solidify into the footstool once again. Her sigh of relief was audible. He nodded once more at them, and returned to the platform.

"Now that that's settled," Hermione said, we can begin. She looked to Harry, but he nodded toward the students. She looked back at them. "Who can tell me a powerful offensive spell?"

She called on someone. "Uh…how about _Reducto_," he said, and Hermione nodded.

"Yes, the Reductor curse. Very powerful…very effective…very nasty," she said, and Harry picked up the thread.

"Depending on the amount of power used, _Reducto_ can do quite a lot of damage. It's not quite as effective as the Killing Curse," he said, "but if one does not move out of the way or block it somehow, it's effect is most often the same."

All of these students were either seventeen or eighteen, so he didn't need to soften up anything. They were all old enough to realize the real consequences of curses such as the Reductor if used on living things.

Hermione nodded. "Yes…and what if your _Protego_, or another shield spell, is already weakened. Or, what if you know the curse flying at you is going to be too powerful for a magical barrier?"

"That's where we come in," continued Harry, "as well as our attempt to bring to light some useful defensive—or offensive—Transfiguration techniques. Hermione—that is, Miss Granger—and I," he corrected himself, smiling, "will begin with a demonstration."

A student raised their hand, and Harry called on her. "But Professor, what could possibly block a Reductor, if not magical? The curse is extremely volatile…" she trailed off.

He nodded. "Yes, that is very true." He scanned the faces. "Does anyone have any ideas?"

No one made a move to answer, and he sensed Hermione shift next to him. Sure enough, she addressed them: "Come on…you're all smart enough to know the answer to this. Magic can usually be _reflected_," she said, placing emphasis on the last word. Harry saw several faces light up in realization.

"Of course," someone said. "A mirror would do the trick."

"Ah," said Harry. "Would it? Would just any mirror be sufficient?"

"Er…" the student faltered.

"If the mirror was flat, what would happen?" asked Hermione.

"The Reductor curse would shatter it," Harry heard. He nodded.

"How do we solve that problem?"

"Bend it!" someone yelled, quite enthusiastically, and Harry smiled.

"Yes, yes…very good. We would need a concave mirror for this to work properly. If done correctly, the magical energy of the curse will travel along the curved surface of the mirror and be flung away from you."

"Now," continued Hermione, stepping away from Harry, "watch closely at the timing and angle with which Harry blocks my curse." Harry looked at the Head Table, saw a plate sitting there, and decided that he'd use that as the initial object. He glanced back to Hermione; he saw that she was ready, and nodded to her.

"_Reducto!_" she cried, and the destructive magical energy burst forth from her wand. It sizzled as it crossed the room. Harry summoned the plate to him and effortlessly transfigured it into a perfect concave mirror. He swept it across the front of him in a graceful motion, catching the curse as it neared. He felt the mirror vibrate slightly, but then the curse was flying upward. He concentrated for a moment, pushing some of his magic into the curse, and it dissipated before it could crash into the ceiling. He let the mirror shift back into the plate, and set it back onto the Head Table.

"So," he addressed the students once again, "is everyone clear on what you will be doing for this exercise?"

They all nodded, although some looked skeptical. He assumed that it was because of the power of Hermione's curse, which had surprised even him slightly, but none of them were able to cast that forcefully.

"Ok, pair up, and use your chairs as the starting objects," Hermione said. She moved back toward Harry, watching as the students selected partners and spread out around the room, chairs in hand.

"You may begin, when ready, but make sure you _both_ are ready. We don't want any accidents…" Harry said. He and Hermione watched as they began to test out their defensive transfiguration skills—Reductors were soon flying around the room. Harry had placed a magical barrier over the walls and ceiling, which would absorb any errant curse; after all, he couldn't have the Great Hall destroyed.

"That was some curse," he said quietly, to Hermione. "Actually wasn't expecting that much power from you…no offense."

Hermione just smiled and shrugged. "Ever since I started doing the physical training with you and Helen," she responded, keeping one eye on the students and one eye on Harry, "I've noticed an increase in my power."

"Oh…yeah, that makes sense," he said. "Dumbledore once told me that he believed physical fitness helps magical fitness, and I think he's right. What you just did…that's more proof, I guess."

She inclined her head and returned her full attention to the students. They stood in silence, watching the seventh years perform the curse and the transfiguration, successfully, for the most part. There were a few close calls, but in those cases, the students either dove out of the way or protected themselves with hastily erected _Protego_s.

"Ok everyone, I think that is enough practice with that," Hermione called out, and waited for the students to return to their previous positions. Some of them were sweating or breathing heavily, and a few had slightly wild looks about them. A sure way of getting the blood flowing and the heart racing was to have someone fire a deadly curse at you…

"Who can give another powerful—" Harry started, but was cut off by a particularly loud crack of thunder. A wash of rain blowing against the windows accompanied it, and Harry felt the floor vibrate from the cacophonous sound. That lightning must have been very close…

"Well, anyways…who can give another powerful offensive spell?" he asked them. Many of their faces were turned toward the windows, out of which only the lashing rain could be seen.

Harry snapped his fingers and whistled. "Hey…over here, everyone. It's just a storm…it's not like you haven't seen them before. Try to focus, please. Remember, dropping the ball today could be detrimental to yourselves or your classmates." All of their attention was, once again, back on him and Hermione.

"Spell? Anyone?" he asked, cutting the question short out of impatience. It was the third time he'd asked it.

"_Diffindo_," someone said.

"Yes, that is indeed another very powerful—and very lethal—curse," Hermione responded. "Anyone have any ideas as to how one would go about defending against it using transfiguration?"

"Make something that can't be cut," it was suggested.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What can't be cut?" Silence greeted his question, and he allowed himself to smile a little. "Anything can be, if the spell is powerful enough," he said. "And how can you know exactly how powerful the spell is, and if what you're using to block it will stop it?" There was still only silence.

"So…that creates a bit of a dilemma," said Hermione, playing off of Harry's train of thought. They hadn't rehearsed or gone over what they were going to say at all, but it seemed to be working out nicely. "If it can't be consistently blocked, then how can transfiguration be useful here?"

"What about using something similar…to cut it, that is?" someone asked.

"Now you're getting somewhere," Harry said. "If you can't block it…why not use it against itself? Something sharp against something else just as sharp…" he trailed off.

"They would effectively cancel each other out," Hermione finished.

Harry nodded. "For instance, if I transfigured that plate into something sharp or with a point…such as a sword…I could nullify the effects of the curse." He looked at Hermione. "Shall we?" She nodded, and walked back over to the other spot.

She raised her wand and yelled, "_Diffindo!_" A thin, bright ribbon of magical energy streamed forth. Harry considered the plate for a microsecond, but then instantaneously summoned his wand into his hand and changed it into his sword. He brought the sword down toward the curse, which was hurtling at his face, and split the ribbon in two. The two pieces sailed by his head; their closeness caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. They disappeared before they crashed into the wall.

"The key is," Harry said, addressing the students again, "to force whatever sharp object you're using through the middle of the curse. The curse can't cut something so thin and pointed, and will be split in two."

"You can use your chairs again," Hermione said, and they all returned to their practical positions and resumed testing out their abilities. Hermione moved to stand by Harry once again.

"Decided against the plate?" she asked him. There was a small smile on her face.

"Yeah…I like _Animus_ better," he said.

She looked wistfully at his sword for a moment. "I wish I could wield one," she said, but shook her head and focused on the students. In the brief silence that followed, the sound of the rain on the roof of the Great Hall grew somewhat.

"Really?" Harry asked her, after a moment.

"Yeah," she said. "I've always been secretly fascinated by them."

"Maybe sometime we can get you one, and I can train you a bit," he suggested, and was rewarded by a smile on her face.

"That would be fantastic, Harry," she said, but the smile faded slightly. She looked around, and then back at Harry. "Is it just me, or is it getting darker in here?" she asked him. He saw her eyes go to one of the many windows, and he looked to one as well. Sure enough, the heavy wind-blown rain wasn't the only thing he could see anymore—dark, ominous clouds were now prevalent in the stormy sky.

"Yeah, I think it is…" he mused, still staring out of the window. He realized that neither of them was watching the students, though, and hurriedly returned his eyes to their activities. Thankfully, none of them had done anything careless. He watched one student transfigure his chair into a machete, slice the Cutting curse flying at him, and turn to watch it fly off toward the wall. He caught Harry's eye; Harry nodded to him and then focused on all of the students.

"Alright, I think that is enough," he said, calling them back to order. They again returned with their chairs to their original positions. He was about to go on, but a shadow suddenly passing over him gave him pause. His eyes slid to the windows again, and he was greeted with a most unwelcome sight—blackness. The clouds were an extremely dark almost pure black. He narrowed his eyes for a moment, and then glanced at Hermione. She too was staring out of the windows.

"Is that normal?" she asked him, quietly.

"I—"

Whatever answer he had been about to give was overrode by a bright flash of lightning and another violent, jarring crash of thunder, almost immediately following the streak. It was right on top of Hogwarts…

He looked to the students and saw that they were losing focus once again, but he couldn't blame them. This was a most unusual storm; it was exceedingly strong for April. He could almost feel the pervasive energy of it, crackling around in the air in the room…

But wait a minute. That wasn't the energy of the storm, was it? It was something else…something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He knew he'd felt it before, though. It was familiar, in a foreboding way that didn't make sense to him, and he puzzled over it for a moment.

"Uh…" Hermione said, "Why don't we take a five minute break?" She turned to Harry after the students agreed, and looked at him with a curious eye.

"What is it?" she asked him.

"I'm…I'm not sure," he said, slowly. "Something…" He paused. There was something eating away at his brain, that he knew he should have realized by now, but what was it? _Where_ had he felt his before?

Another flash of lightning shown throughout the hall and the resulting blast of thunder echoed loudly; the rain was an ever-increasing white noise on the sides and top of the castle. Harry cocked his head to the side, digging deep within his own memory, trying to ascertain the origin of whatever was causing him to feel like this. Whatever it was, it was unpleasant.

"Something's wrong—" he started, but cut himself off. It had clicked. With widened, horrified eyes, he slowly turned to Hermione. She just looked at him with slight apprehension; he knew there was naked fear on his face.

"Impossible…" he breathed, and Disapparated.

----------

"Following that, you add the boomslang skin—" Helen started to explain, but stopped short. The wind driving the rain against the window behind her distracted her for a moment, but she focused on what she was feeling.

There it was again…it was some huge spike of magic. It was almost tangible it was so large. She knew that her class was looking at her a little weirdly now, waiting for her to continue, but she had to figure out what it was. Part of it felt familiar…but the other part felt dirty and corrupted.

Whatever it was, it was large. Very large. She didn't know if she'd ever felt anything that powerful, not even from her father. Another surge…and she dropped the vial she was holding. It shattered on the floor, sending shards of glass skittering for a meter or two.

"Are you alright?" someone asked, but she ignored the question. It had been Harry…that's what she had felt. But there was something wrong. Something was different about it, and it felt horrible. She shivered at the mental caress of that foreign magic, and tried to push it away. It responded in kind, and there was another surge of magic from her father; this time, though, she was able to determine where it was coming from.

She looked up, into the concerned faces of her students. "Whatever happens, _stay here_," she implored. "_Stay here_," she repeated, and suddenly Disapparated.

----------

Dumbledore stood by his window, gazing out at the maelstrom currently raging over Britain. He had no idea how this had gone on for so long now, and as far as he knew, all the Muggle weather experts were just as baffled. It defied explanation, at least with conventional science, and therefore Dumbledore reluctantly turned to the magical world for answers.

He was always hesitant to explore those types of options, especially for natural problems, such as the weather, because it usually meant something very powerful or abnormal was at work. He was worried that somehow he had overlooked something glaringly important, and it was now coming back to haunt them all…

It was a nagging feeling, but the fact that the weather was now getting continually worse didn't help to mollify it. It was deadening, for everyone. The constant gloom permanently dampened spirits, and truth be told, he was starting to get irritated. He knew it wasn't an uncommon feeling, but he rarely was annoyed by something as petty as the weather. It just didn't seem like a good use of his energy, especially at this late stage of his life. However…he couldn't help it. It really was annoying.

His eye twitched and he stepped back from the window. That was odd. What was that he had just felt? It had seemed like some sort of spike in the magical energies all around the castle. He had distinctly felt it, but what did it mean? Were the wards failing? Was Harry or Helen doing something that they had not informed him about?

He was distracted from that line of thought by the image of Helen and Harry, dueling one another with the fully unlocked potential of their powers. He was more powerful than Helen, in terms of raw strength, but she was quicker, and yes, smarter and more adept when it came to magic. Before he had met her, no one had even come close to equaling him in terms of the vastness of his or her magical arsenal. Helen had, though, and she had surpassed him. He knew that she was aware of spells that he most likely had never even heard of, and he wouldn't have been surprised if she was inventing her own.

Harry…well Harry had the most power, by far, and he was a brilliant tactician, but he sometimes lacked the foresight required. He was best when quick thinking was necessary, rather than planned strategy. He had the uncanny knack to get himself and others out of impossible situations—he had been doing so all of his life.

His eye twitched again, and he furrowed his brows. There was that same sudden burst in magic…but now he could tell that it wasn't Helen or Harry; at least, not alone or together. There was something else there, something unfamiliar and repulsive, but it was flitting just at the edges of his comprehension.

His signature ocular twinkle faded as he felt a slight push and pull at his own magical energy, and he began to make a connection. There was only one person that had affected his magic like that, as far as he knew, but that didn't make any sense. It was impossible.

Suddenly, there was clear surge of Harry's magical power, and then Helen's and the third. They were successive, one after another, and for the first time, he clearly felt what the third was.

With dawning horror, his eyes slid to the window behind his half-moon spectacles. Of course…it all made sense now. The weather…the constant pall…the dreary mood…how could he have not seen it before? With disbelief, frustration, fear, and anger exploding inside of him, he Disapparated from his office, leaving it empty, save for the sound of the raging storm.

----------

Harry appeared just outside the main doors of the castle, and was immediately driven back against the hard wood behind him by the gusting winds. The rain pelted his face, lashing his skin like a thousand tiny pebbles, but he didn't notice. All of his attention—all of his being—was focused on what he was feeling at the moment.

It didn't make any sense, yet it was clear to him what he had felt was. He refused to believe it, though, unless he had visual proof, so he squinted through the tempest before him, trying to catch a glimpse of something he'd believed to he left in the past. All he could see, though, was the torrential rain and the muddy pools of water that now covered the whole of the grounds.

He pushed against the wind, striding slowly and willfully away from the security of the castle, descending the stairs and stepping into the mud. The wind howled in his ears, through his hair, and around his robe, threatening to knock him over, but he held his ground. Still staring ahead, trying to get a glimpse, he continued forward slowly. He had to see.

He felt that magical pulse again, and surged against. He hated the way it felt, and thought perhaps his own magic would keep it at bay. There was an indistinct battle of wills for a moment, and then it receded momentarily. Just then, he heard a splash beside him, over the wind, and pivoted toward it, sword raised.

It was Helen. She was looking at him with wide eyes; she had her own sword out and was poised to use it. He cringed as another of the pulses swept over him, and he buffeted against it again with his magic—he felt Helen do the same. This time the third force put up more of a resistance, even though there was now two pushing against it, but it subsided after a moment.

There was another splash, and Helen and Harry both turned toward it, ready to strike. Dumbledore stood there, sword out, looking at the two of them with something akin to disbelief and subdued horror in his eyes.

"What is going on!" Helen yelled, over the sound of the wind and rain. The sky was split in half by a violent streak of lightning, and the three of them automatically flinched at the loud, piercing crack of thunder.

Harry stared at Dumbledore. The two men locked eyes, oblivious to the myriad raindrops cutting through their direct line of vision, and Harry immediately understood that what he had feared, unfortunately, was exactly what the Headmaster was thinking.

"I think…" started Dumbledore, but the wind carried away the rest of what he said.

"What?" yelled Harry and Helen.

"I think," the old man tried again, bracing himself against the wind, "we need to ensure the safety of the students!"

Harry looked around for a moment, squinting into the rain, but still saw nothing concrete. He turned back to Dumbledore, who he saw was now gazing protectively at the castle. Harry felt for the man in that instant—Hogwarts was something he had endeavored to protect and sanctify his entire life, and now that might be threatened?

"As long as they remain inside they should be fine!" Harry exclaimed, trying to make himself heard.

Another pulse came just then, much stronger and more repugnant than any of the others, and the three of them visibly braced themselves against it. It wasn't just a feeling any more—Harry could visibly see black trails of something slowly wafting past them, as if the sensation had tangible evidence.

He looked around again; this time much more heatedly, but still saw nothing. He pushed against the foreign magic, and felt Helen and Dumbledore do the same. It seemed to do the trick, but as he watched, the black tendrils seemed to pull back and then coalesce into something more solid.

His eyes followed the sight, and he turned in a slow circle to track its progress. It was receding back through the storm, toward Hogwarts' gates. His eyes were drawn to the sky by some peripheral movement, and he looked up with shock on his face as he watched the clouds do something he'd never seen before.

They seemed to be swirling, darkening and coming together above some point that was not very far away. He could actually see the torrents of rain as they fell from those clouds, and every few seconds, some internal bolt of lightning would light them up. The wind was so overpowering now that he could barely hear the resulting thunder; he was having a hard time standing, and he knew that Dumbledore and Helen were as well. They were all braced against whatever was coming…natural or magical…

All three of their faces were turned toward the violent skies, watching as the swirling clouds drew closer overhead. Harry was vaguely aware that someone had joined them, and that that someone was Hermione, but he was too morbidly mesmerized by what he seeing. It wasn't a tornado, but it wasn't anything else that he knew of, either. The whole sky seemed to be drawing toward some singularity, pushing further and further in, becoming denser and denser.

As it drew closer and closer, the clouds slowly made their way toward the ground, becoming blacker as they did so. The rain increased, until it was almost unbearable, and the wind drove him sideways; he rebraced himself, and continued staring at what was happening. His eyes—the others', as well—were drawn slowly down toward the gates. The black mass that had been the clouds settled there, and they were all looking into some colorless, sightless void. It was a truly terrible sight. With bated breath, and a foreboding sense of the unknown, Harry watched as the mass slowly drew toward them.

He felt Hermione grip his arm, as well as Helen and Dumbledore drawing closer to him, but his stare remained fix in front of him. The amount of energy it was putting off…and the way that energy felt—the horrible, ghastly way it felt…was overwhelming. He couldn't focus it was so powerful.

He knew it, though. He had felt it before, and now that it was so clear, there was no doubt in his mind about whom it belonged to. Regardless of the fact that it didn't make any sense, that he had _watched the soul of the person shatter_, here he was. He knew it. He could feel it in his very core, and his magic pulsed to the beat of the disbelief and fear that were throbbing through him.

The black void lifted and parted slightly, and an indefinite form began to take shape. As it drew nearer, foot-by-foot, it became a little clearer, and Harry felt his heart speed up. Was it possible? Could this really be him? If it was…how though? How could it be?

Those questions were rendered moot, however, when Hermione shrieked and clenched his arm painfully. He looked at her, distracted, and saw that she was rigid and white with terror. He saw Helen next to her, whose eyes were also wide with disbelief. Dumbledore was further beyond her, and he was staring straight ahead with a kind of shock Harry had never seen on his face before.

Harry returned his eyes to the front, and almost lost his battle against the wind at what he saw. There, standing no more than fifty meters away…was Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord had returned.


	27. Symphony of Frost and Flame

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: Here is the second to last chapter; an epilogue will follow this. Please review!**

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Chapter 27: Symphony of Frost and Flame

The gaunt, sallow face emerged from the swirling blackness, and Harry saw all that he needed to. He stared into those red eyes, with black slits for pupils, and watched as Voldemort's slitted, flat nostrils expanded with some unheard breath. The darkness around him lifted somewhat, and Harry saw the familiar weightless, black satiny robes flitting around him restlessly, as if Voldemort somehow escaped the driving wind he and his were engulfed in.

He was aware of the painful grip Hermione had on his arm, but he did nothing to prevent it. He merely stood there, next to his girlfriend, his daughter, and his mentor as the impossible approached them, bringing with it a violent swarm of darkness that would instill fear in the hearts of even the bravest witches or wizards.

As the wind buffeted his hair about his head, as rain fell in rivulets down his face, as he felt the huge magical presence of Voldemort approaching, he couldn't help but feeling like it was all a dream…a nightmare. Any minute now, he'd wake up, sweating, grasping the place on his forehead where his scar had been. Any minute now he'd sit up in bed, see Hermione next to him, smile, and go back to sleep. It was bound to happen.

Hermione's nails were now digging into his arm, and that was when he realized that it wasn't a nightmare. That should have woken him. He should have been safe in his bed, but…apparently it was real. This was really happening. Voldemort really was walking toward them, with a self-satisfied smirk on his ugly, serpentine face.

"Hermione, let go!" Harry yelled over the storm. She flinched as if she had been struck, almost like she had forgotten anything else existed except for the visage approaching them, and released his arm. She stepped back a few steps; Harry saw that she couldn't comprehend what was happening. Harry looked past her at Helen and Dumbledore, and saw they were just as perplexed, but they had assumed some kind of defensive stance. It didn't do to be unprepared, no matter how confused they were.

Harry focused for a moment, reaching deep within his magical foundation, and unblocked the dam. He felt the familiar nothingness, and when he was aware again, a slight yellow-orange haze surrounded him. He knew that it signified fear…anxiety…excitement… He could see vibrant red streaks intermittently flashing through it, and they signified some latent anger within him. There were two flashes of light—one red-orange and the other teal—and he knew that Dumbledore and Helen had ascended as well. He looked back to Voldemort, saw that he was still slowly approaching them, and raised his sword into the air.

"_Animus!_" he cried, and the crimson and gold flames leapt from the blade. They shone brilliantly in the driving rain, creating a prismatic effect among the descending drops.

"_Fervens!_"

"_Omnipotens!_" Helen and Dumbledore's swords joined Harry's in a brilliant blaze of color, and they turned to look at each other. Hermione had faded a few more steps back, and now stood shivering in the rain, watching the proceedings in shock and awe and fear. Her wet hair flapped madly about her face.

Harry, Helen, and Dumbledore eyed each other for a moment, and Harry was aware of some tacit communication that passed between them. He felt the solidarity of their will, the immense power of their strength, and the dying fear. If they stood together, surely they could overcome this new and unexpected threat. They turned as one to face the crimson-eyed man, seeing that he had stopped about 20 meters from them.

The rain and the wind continued without letting up, and the black aura surrounding Voldemort grew increasingly more violent as they stood there looking at each other. The ground between them was a bog of water and mud, and Harry saw the colors of their auras and swords reflected there. They were subdued, though, because the blackness was threatening to blot them out. He looked up into Voldemort's eyes.

"Potter." It came across the gulf between them easily, as if the weather wasn't affecting Voldemort at all. There was nothing but absolute loathing in his voice.

"How are you here, Tom?" yelled Dumbledore, switching defensive stances, showing a nimbleness that belied his age.

Harry saw Voldemort laugh, and again, the sound seemed to waft effortlessly to their ears.

"Your hero didn't complete the job," he said. Harry flinched as the full weight of the evil man's words penetrated his brain, and furrowed his brow in complete and utter confusion. He hadn't completed his job? He had destroyed all of the Horcruxes…he had faced and defeated Voldemort! He had done everything he'd been asked to, by Dumbledore, the Prophecy, and everyone who had been depending on him. He felt his anger simmer slightly, and he was aware of his aura turning a bit of a red shade.

"You can't be here!" Harry exclaimed, rather irrationally, but he couldn't help it. None of it made any sense.

"Can't I?" came the easy, cruel reply. There was a mocking tone in it, and Harry had to suppress a snarl of rage. Everything had been so peaceful, and now this was happening? It seemed as if he hadn't really ever escaped the horror of his previous life, and the vicissitude with which they were presenting themselves again was overwhelming…

"I…I destroyed you!" Harry said, faltering slightly. He looked over to Dumbledore, who was looking back at him with a curious, scrutinizing look beyond the ever-present shock in his eyes.

"Unfortunately, yes," Voldemort replied, drawing Harry's attention back to the tall man standing at the center of the dark energy. "But not all of me."

"What's he talking about?" Helen asked, so that only Harry and Dumbledore could hear her.

"Nagini," Dumbledore said, loudly. Harry furrowed his brows more—he had killed that bloody snake. What did she have to do with anything? Much to his surprise, however, Voldemort nodded with a cold smile gracing his lips.

"You always were quick, Dumbledore."

"What!" Harry interposed, growing more frustrated by the second. The rapidly shifting colors of his aura signified his turmoil. "We destroyed all of your Horcruxes!"

Voldemort crossed his arms, and that self-satisfied look descended over his revolting features once again. The black aura whirled restlessly around his dormant figure.

"Would I be here now if you did? Tell me, _Potter_, how am I standing here _right now_ if you had done that?"

Harry had no answer, and that seemed to feed Voldemort's satisfaction; Harry was having a hard time controlling his anger, and his aura was slowly shifting to a red color.

"Careful, Harry…" Dumbledore warned. Voldemort must have heard him.

"I'd listen to your Headmaster, Potter. You could learn a few things from him…such as how to finish the job properly."

"I did!" Harry insisted, somewhat impetuously.

"If you thought I wasn't aware of your quest for the Horcruxes, you were sorely mistaken!" Voldemort said, and for the first time, Harry sensed some heat in his voice. The black aura swung up into the air for a moment, violently riding the trail of some air current, before falling back toward the earth.

Harry could tell that Helen was growing restless, as she was constantly shifting her weight from foot to foot, but there were things he had to know. He laid a hand over her arm to prevent her from doing anything rash.

"Why didn't you stop me then?"

"Because I believed myself to be more powerful," Voldemort replied, simply. There was a leering sneer in his eyes.

"But Tom…surely you were smart enough to know that even your best plans could fail," Dumbledore said. Harry noticed that there wasn't any of the fear left in his voice. He heard curiosity…and not much else.

"Which is why I protected one of the Horcruxes." Voldemort looked directly into Harry's eyes. "You didn't kill Nagini, Potter. She's dead now…but she served her purpose."

"How'd you get out of Azkaban?" Helen asked, acidly. Harry knew she was aware of Voldemort's supposed final resting place, but now here he was…

Voldemort smiled coldly. "The blame lies with the incompetent guards. I simply," he spread his arms out, "Apparated away." His gaze focused on Helen. Harry didn't like the way he was looking at her…

"And you must be Helen Potter…or Helen Davis, whichever. I've heard _so_ much about you…"

Harry didn't like his tone. "You have nothing to say to her, Tom—"

"Oh, on the contrary, Harry," he said, smiling once again, but at Helen. "I have everything to say to her." If he had eyebrows, one of them probably would have raised. "Did you enjoy what my Death Eaters did to you?"

Suddenly, there was a brilliant flash of light, and then Harry saw, for an instant, a chartreuse streak of energy flying toward Voldemort. It looked like it was going to hit Voldemort directly in the face, but he seemed to pull his aura in around him, and the energy bounced off. Harry looked over to Helen and saw her aura had changed to a deep, broiling red, and that her chest was heaving. She had just attacked Voldemort.

"I don't see them now," she snarled. "Where are your precious followers?" There was hatred in her voice, and Harry knew that all the years of pent up rage and hurt from her ordeal was coming out.

Voldemort settled his aura slowly, and just remained smiling at their little group. He looked calmly from Dumbledore, to Helen, past Hermione, and finally to Harry. His scarlet eyes seemed to sparkle with some hidden malice…

"I don't need them."

"Of course you do, Tom. How can you spread your hatred and prejudices without them?" The question came from Dumbledore.

Voldemort laughed; it was a high, grating sort of thing. "It was never about prejudice, Dumbledore. You should have realized that by now."

For the first time, Hermione spoke. Her voice was trembling a bit, but Harry thought that had more to do with the cold drenching rain than fear.

"What was the point of the death and destruction then? Did it amuse you?"

"Ah…Miss Granger." Voldemort looked between the four of them again. "Forgive me, _Potter_, but excluding you, three of the supposedly smartest witches and wizards are standing here, and you cannot think for yourselves?"

Silence reigned, and the sound of the wind and the rain were the only things reaching Harry's ears.

"What was it about then, Tom?" Dumbledore asked.

Voldemort looked at the ground for a moment, and when he looked up, Harry's blood ran cold. There was a look of pure malevolence, as if Voldemort knew something they didn't.

"Power, Dumbledore. It was always about the power." He paused, and then looked directly at the Headmaster. "Did you think I would never find out?"

"Find out what, Tom?"

Voldemort laughed again, and his aura became slightly agitated. "Look around you. What is this?" he asked, indicating the blackness surrounding him.

"It's petty hatred, Tom."

Voldemort shook his head slowly. "No, Dumbledore; that is where you are mistaken. It's power. Pure _power_."

"What good is power if no one benefits from it?" The conversation seemed to have become a discourse between only Voldemort and Dumbledore.

"Why would I want anyone to benefit from something I've worked so hard to achieve? What do you think I've been doing for the last ten years?"

"Sounds just like you, Tom. Single-minded. You always were when it came to getting something you wanted."

The red eyes gleamed. "It works, doesn't it?"

Harry felt the ground vibrate, and he watched as Voldemort raised his arms to the sky. The black aura started pulsating and throbbing violently, and Voldemort brought his arms down abruptly. The blackness exploded out from him, and came rushing at the their group. Harry could feel the pull of the energy as it drew near, and didn't want to think about what would happen if it touched any of them.

He released his own power, knowing that Helen and Dumbledore were doing the same, and braced himself as the energies met. There was a startlingly loud noise when they did so, and they brutally came together. Harry immediately felt strain, and clenched his teeth against the power fighting against them. It was slowly drawing nearer, pushing their colored auras back, and snaking in through the gaps.

Helen's flashed bright and then faded, and she staggered back a step. The added strain from her collapse dropped onto Harry like a lead weight, and he almost lost. However, he looked over to Dumbledore, and they slowly moved together.

"He's…much more…powerful…" Harry ground out, and heard Dumbledore grunt his agreement. "Focus…on three…one…two…three!" He flared out as much power as he could, felt Dumbledore do the same. The black aura began to recede slightly, and then pulled back completely. The two colored auras flared out rapidly for a moment before Harry and Dumbledore regained control of their spiraling powers, and then subsided to their usual size.

"I'll ask you again, Dumbledore." Voldemort said, with that same cruel smile on his face. "Did you think I would never find out?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Tom," Dumbledore answered, tiredly. There was fatigue in his voice.

The slitted nostrils flared. "I'm talking about _this_!" he yelled, and pulled out his wand. He pointed it them, and Harry braced himself for another attack.

"_Increpitas Inflecto Forma Veres!_" For a moment, Harry couldn't comprehend what was happening, but it dawned upon him with piercing clarity when he saw the sword take form. It was a black katana. Voldemort was an heir of one of the Founders. He heard a sharp intake of breath from Dumbledore.

"_Imperium_!" Voldemort yelled, and sickly black flames shot forth from the blade. He twirled the blade deftly in one hand, eyed it for a moment, and looked back to them with that same gleam in his eyes.

"Lucifer's blade—I think you know what this means."

"All he wanted was power, Tom. Look where that got him," Dumbledore said. Harry could tell he was trying to ignore or overcome the shock Harry knew he felt from what he had just seen.

"You can only be what you're given," Voldemort replied easily. "He had very little magical strength, and he believed that he could change that. I, on the other hand, already possessed an immense power. All I needed to do was unlock it."

"And do what with it? Kill everyone…destroy everything? Some world that would be," Harry said. It was the first time he had spoken to Voldemort in a few minutes.

"Oh no, Potter…this is about _vengeance_. This is about settling old scores. You have eluded me far too many times. Today, you will not."

"You always were too arrogant for your own good," Hermione said. There was a look of contempt on her face.

"It's not arrogance, Granger. It's knowledge. You see…I _know_ I'm the most powerful."

"No, Tom, you know nothing. You never have. You were always too blinded by your quest for power. It's clouded your mind from the truth—you're always second best. There always was someone who saw right through you," Dumbledore said.

"We shall see who knows what!" Voldemort yelled, and his aura expanded exponentially out from him. "I hope you've said your goodbyes," he said, "because you all die, _now_." He looked to Dumbledore. "And say farewell to your precious school. It will be nothing more than a heap of rubble when I'm finished with it."

Voldemort began to twirl the katana rapidly, and the blackness started to draw in toward his body. It became blacker and denser as it drew in, and soon Harry couldn't clearly make out Voldemort's figure. An eerie, wicked laugh reached his ears, causing the hair on the nape of his neck to stand up, and the blackness came rocketing toward them once again.

It was much denser this time, and Harry could feel that it was much more powerful. They had had enough trouble stopping the last one…

"Helen, get up here!" he cried, and clawed within himself for the last bits of power he could muster. He sent it toward the approaching black wave as Dumbledore and Helen did the same, and he was visibly slid back a few inches in the mud when they met. He worked to maintain the steady outflow of power from his core, raising his sword to act as a focal point for the energies bursting forth from him.

"It's futile to resist!" he heard. His vision was clouding from the strain, though, and he couldn't see where Voldemort was. All of his concentration was on keeping the ugly orb of malignant energy at bay.

Suddenly, there was a bloodcurdling scream, and he tilted his head to the side just in time to see Helen rocketed backward, straight into Hermione. They hit with a sickening force, and landed back upon the ground, unmoving. Harry barely had time to think about this, though, because he and Dumbledore were forced to pick up the slack. They were now compensating for the loss of Helen.

The blackness was rushing around them unchecked now, and only small bits of their colored auras remained. Harry could almost feel it sucking his very magic from within him, and he instinctually wanted to get as far from it as possible. He and Dumbledore were slowly drawn together, back to back, in order to brace themselves against the onslaught.

"What do we do now!" Harry yelled over the roar of the wind, the rain, and the magical currents flying around them.

"We just have to hold on!" Dumbledore replied, and Harry felt him surge his magic. He tried the same, but he was growing weary quickly. Voldemort, somehow, had just become too powerful.

Dumbledore must have realized that as well. "Harry," he gasped. "I don't know how much longer we can hold out."

Harry watched as a dark tendril passed within a few inches of his arm, and felt the flesh there grow cold as if the very life was being pulled from it.

"We have to think of something!" Harry cried, desperately. Is this how it was all supposed to end? Killed at the hand of madman he'd thought he'd finished twelve years before? There had been so much peace, and now this…

"There…there is one thing…" Dumbledore said, breathing heavily in exertion.

"What?" Harry asked. Their backs were now pressed against each other. Harry glanced over at where Helen and Hermione lay, still unmoving. He couldn't…he wouldn't think about that right now.

"One spell," the old man gasped, leaning on Harry now, "that I never taught you…might help us…"

Harry grimaced as another particular strong surge rushed around them, and fortified his magic as much as he could. He was wearing out though…he could feel it. If this didn't let up soon, he would be finished.

"Well, what is it?" Harry queried, impatiently.

"It's…I would sacrifice myself—"

"—WHAT?—"

"—give you my power…"

"You can't, Albus!"

"WHAT OTHER CHOICE DO WE HAVE?" Dumbledore yelled, his voice regaining some of its strength.

"I…" Harry faltered. "I could…I could do it!" he yelled.

"Harry—" Dumbledore started, but then was cut off by a grunt. He had to brace himself further against the wall of magical power they were fighting.

"You have much left to live for, Harry…I'm an old man!"

"But…" Harry trailed off. They were losing the battle of wills; it would only be a few more minutes before they were overtaken by Voldemort's power.

"No buts—"

"No, Albus, you can't!"

"Why not? I have lived my life out. I have no regrets…you, on the other hand, have much left to do, and there are many more people waiting for you than me."

"Albus…!" Harry tried, but failed to articulate anything.

"This is my choice, Harry! That's what I've been trying to tell you for so long now! It's _my choice_. It's my eternal right!" Dumbledore shouted.

"I just…"

"And then it's your right to use the power I give you. Use it to finish him once and for all! Wipe him from the face of the earth!" Albus demanded. Harry felt Dumbledore turn against his back. "Face me, Harry!" Harry did so, struggling mightily. "Cross your sword with mine!" Dumbledore held out _Omnipotens_, with the flat of its blade facing toward the sky, and Harry reluctantly placed _Animus_ across it. The platinum, crimson, and gold flames licked angrily against each other and the blades vibrated slightly with the close contact. Harry looked up, directly into the piercing blue eyes of his mentor.

"Keep Hogwarts safe, Harry." Dumbledore closed his eyes, and a serene look passed over his features. He tilted his head slightly back.

"_FORTUNA IMPERATRIX MUNDI_!" he yelled, and Harry was lost in a swirling world of excruciatingly bright colors.

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Helen came to with the sound of the rain, the wind, and some unknown rushing noise assaulting her ears. She was aware of some soft form below her, and rolled off of it. The movement jarred some injury in her arm, and she groaned as pain exploded through her nerves. She looked up and saw that it was Hermione she had been on, and that her face was pale and sweating.

She looked around and almost recoiled at what she saw next: her father and Dumbledore were being swallowed by a black vortex; their auras were slowly shrinking against the vile force whipping against them. She couldn't see Voldemort, but knew he was the one causing it, and tried to stand. She looked to her arm and saw that it was grotesquely twisted, and as more pain shot through her being, she almost fainted. She brought her eyes back up to the scene before her, and could see that Dumbledore and her father were now facing each other.

Dumbledore laid his blade out between them, and Harry laid his across it. She was aware of a palpable sense of coming together, or building up, or some such feeling, and then Dumbledore's voice carried itself to her.

"_FORTUNA IMPERATRIX MUNDI_!" he yelled, and she squinted against the bright corona of light that erupted from the blades between the two men. It grew so bright that she knew nothing else, and her world was filled with the swirling colors for a few moments. The light reached a crescendo of luminosity, and then began to fade—actually, it began to shrink. The light stayed as bright as it had been, but it was coming down and moving to one side. She shaded her eyes to see…

Her father was there, wind whipping his robes around his body, with a bright blue halo of light surrounding him, but she didn't see Dumbledore. Where was he? He had been standing right there…but then her eyes were drawn to the ground, and she had to force the bile that rose in her throat back.

The world's most venerable, revered, and trusted wizard lay on the ground, eyes wide in a lifeless gaze; his sword had fallen out of his hand so that his wand lay next to him. Helen could tell immediately that Albus Dumbledore had left this world for the next. He was on his next great adventure.

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Harry felt renewed energy and vigor flood his being, and the intense light around shifted somewhat, taking on a blue color. It subsided somewhat, and he could no longer see Dumbledore. The Headmaster…was lying on the ground. Harry looked into those inert eyes, and silently thanked the man with his entire being for the biggest sacrifice one could make. He could feel Dumbledore's power flooding his veins, mixing with his own, making him stronger. It wasn't a completely alien sensation—it felt exactly like the old man's magical signature had felt.

It was changing, though…he felt his power and Dumbledore's mixing, creating a completely new force. He could literally feel the new energy molding to his core, and with a deep breath, he turned and faced directly into the black mass that was still swirling about.

Now, however, it didn't seem quite as daunting, he reached within and pushed against it with his newfound power. The auras fought one another for a moment—a living image of the battle of wills currently raging between Voldemort and Harry. After a few seconds, the blackness abruptly receded, and Voldemort came into view once again, standing about 15 meters from Harry. His cruel red eyes flicked to Dumbledore's body, motionless on the ground.

"Pity," he hissed. "Noble, truly, but futile nonetheless."

"You don't know the meaning of noble," Harry said, and his voice was full of the electricity currently flowing through him. He hated this man standing in front of him with every part of his being, but he wasn't letting that control him. He was mostly in awe of what Dumbledore had done—the man was so selfless.

"Here we are again, Potter."

"Indeed, Tom."

"This time…_I_ will destroy _you_."

"Hardly," Harry responded, and began to pull from his magical core all of his energy. It was all or nothing now, and he had to find every last bit of power within. Voldemort must have sensed Harry doing that, because Harry could feel him doing the same thing. The air began to tingle and spark around both of them as more and more of the power reached the surface and flooded into their auras, and soon the black aura was butting up against the blue one. The fifteen meters between them were a galvanized area of ozone and magic.

Once Harry had grasped all that he could, when there was nothing more he could give, he faced Voldemort fully. He ignored the singing air around him, the wind, and the rain, and focused on the hateful being. This was it. This is where it would finally end. There would be no tomorrow for any of them if he failed. It was his duty before, and it was his now.

He tested the waters, pushing against Voldemort's power with his own, and he felt Voldemort push back. The auras snapped and popped where they met, and they streaked into each other, only to be expelled much more violently into the surrounding air. Harry backed off, having realized that they were almost evenly matched now, and raised his sword.

Voldemort did as well, and the red eyes were burning with hatred. He twirled the katana in a hand and set himself. Harry drew _Animus_ across the front of him in a slow arc, ending with it pointing directly at Voldemort.

They stood like that for a moment, locked onto each other's gaze. Lightning—real lightning—cracked open the heavens, and the thunder that followed was deafening. The rain started in even harder, but Harry ignored the droplets pounding his skin. Everything that he knew, all that he was aware of, was focused on Voldemort.

They both struck at the same time. Harry micro-Apparated toward Voldemort, and he copied the action. They met in the middle, with a violent clanging of metal upon metal, and blue bit into black as their auras coalesced. Harry pressed with all of his strength against Voldemort's blade, baring his teeth at the ugly, sniveling face less than a foot away, and Voldemort's eyes burned crimson rage at being held at bay. Power exploded from the katana, and Harry was forced to leap and flip backward to avoid whatever malevolent spell Voldemort had tried. He ducked as soon as he landed, felt the wind of the katana slicing over his head, and drove his sword back behind him. He felt more than he heard Voldemort Apparate a short distance away, and turned around quickly.

"_Reducto Magno_!" Harry yelled, and held his sword up as staccato bursts of the curse flew from it at an extremely high speed. He swept his sword around in a semicircle, peppering Voldemort with them. He knew that Voldemort had put up a shield, but he kept the curses up. Sooner or later the shield would fall…

And it did, but Voldemort was too fast for Harry. He Apparated away and yelled, "_Avada Kedavra Magna_!"

"_Animis Protega_!" Harry returned, and a pure white nimbus filtered down around him. Each time a sickly green Killing Curse hit, it flashed a brighter white, and Harry just stood calmly as they struck it. They let up after a moment, and he saw confusion etched on the face of Voldemort, but it was only a passing gesture.

They came together, their swords flashing in the light of Harry's aura, and parried each other blow for blow. The katana was longer, but Harry was faster, and they two men were dueling evenly. Harry ground his teeth and struck against Voldemort successively three times, adding in sharp bursts of energy with each one, and drove him back a few steps. Voldemort ducked the fourth, however, and responded in turn to Harry; he was now on the defensive, and he had to retreat a few steps under the physical and magical assault.

He cast a curse from his hand after five blows, which was more of a burst of energy than any one spell, and he and Voldemort separated. They stood staring at each other for a moment, chests heaving; Harry was then aware of someone coming and standing beside him. It was his daughter. Even under this monumental evil, after she had been knocked unconscious, here she was again, ready to stand and fight with her life against tyranny and oppression.

"Isn't this nice?" Voldemort asked, rhetorically. "Now I'll get to kill father _and_ daughter, and they'll get to watch each other go." Helen smiled wanly at Voldemort; one arm hung limply at her side, but the other was fine, and she twirled _Fervens_ rapidly in that hand.

"The only thing you'll be doing today is dying," she said, very coldly. The smile had evaporated in an icy chill of anger, and Harry nodded. She spoke the truth.

Through some form of silent communication, they both leapt forward at the same time, and Harry watched satisfactorily as Voldemort had to take a few steps back under the dual blows. He was still parrying them all successfully, but barely. He crosscut violently with the katana, and Harry had to step back to avoid its razor edge. That was all Voldemort needed, and he pushed all of his magical energy toward Helen. She was woefully unprepared for the sudden onslaught of the wicked mass, and was thrown back several paces. Harry watched, almost in slow motion, as she fell toward the earth like a rag doll, and landed with nauseating crunch on one of her legs. Her sword flew away from her grasp, reverting to her wand, and she lay still.

Harry desperately wanted to see if she was ok—the image of her lying there reminded him of Hermione as well—but he couldn't. Voldemort had turned back toward him with a cruel, sadistic smile on his face, and pushed his full power out once again. Harry coiled his muscles, and just as the black cloud reached him, he released his own full power. He walked forward slowly, parting the sea of Voldemort's power down the middle as he did so, until he was within a few feet of the man.

"You know how this is going to end!" Harry yelled.

"With…_your_…DEATH!" Voldemort screamed, the veins and tendons standing out in his neck, and he leapt forward. Harry brought _Animus_ up to parry the blow, but Voldemort changed course at the last second. Harry barely had enough time to sidestep, and even so, he felt a sharp pain in his right leg. The successful blow seemed to have renewed Voldemort's sense of purpose, and he came at Harry with new speed and energy. Harry was slowly pushed back toward the castle by the combination of magical and physical blows, and it was all he could do to avoid the lethal ones.

His eyes fell briefly on Helen's still body, and when he ducked another blow, he saw Hermione, still lying where he had seen her fall. As he rolled out of the way of a particularly insidious curse, Dumbledore's prone form filled his vision.

It was…it was up to him now. Everyone that he had loved had suffered or been killed by Voldemort…and here he was…being pushed back. No…he wouldn't die or let anyone else be killed at the hands of this lunatic. Voldemort was nothing more than psycho with a lot of toys, and he knew he could beat him. He would do it for his daughter, his girlfriend, and his mentor, who had just sacrificed his life so the world he'd fought for, for so long, could go on.

Voldemort was not going to take that away. Harry gritted his teeth, blocked a blow, and leapt at Voldemort. Just before he reached the man, he micro-Apparated behind him, and swung the sharp blade at the side of his head. Voldemort anticipated it, though, and brought the katana up in the nick of time.

In a moment of inspiration, Harry silently cast the summoning spell on Voldemort's sword, and watched as it was wrenched from the man's grip. Voldemort responded almost instantaneously with his own summoning charm, and the sword hung suspended for a moment, glistening in the light of Harry's aura and dripping with the rain coming down all around them. It started vibrating under the strain of the two spells; Harry could actually hear a ringing noise in the air. Voldemort turned around fully, reached for the sword, and was hurled back by the rivaling power of the spells. Voldemort's sword sailed into Harry's hand.

It reverted to Voldemort's wand, and Harry placed the tip of _Animus_ against it. "_Incendio_," he hissed, eyes boring into Voldemort's. Voldemort watched with widening eyes as the wand burst into flame, flaring bright for a moment, and then puffing out as a pile of ash on the muddy ground.

Harry didn't give Voldemort time to think, and leapt at him while twirling his blade. With nothing to block it, Voldemort stood there, gape mouthed. He Apparated a short distance away, and Harry followed; he kept doing it though, trying to escape the whirlwind of death.

Harry focused on the magic around them, and discovered that he could tell where Voldemort was Apparating to just before he did it. There was a telltale spike of magic in that region, and Harry waited for him to do it again. When he did…Harry Apparated as well, and drove the sword forward with all his strength as Voldemort appeared.

There was a look of complete shock and disbelief on Voldemort's face for a moment, and then a rivulet of blood ran from his mouth. Harry pulled the sword from within the man's chest, stepped back, and watched as he fell face first into a muddy puddle. The blackness around Harry immediately started to fade, and Harry turned his face toward the sky. The rain was letting up…and the clouds were shrinking away. As he turned in a full circle, a ray of sunlight illuminated the ground a few feet away…

He became aware of a shuffling beside him, and saw Helen bravely working her way toward him. She had tears of joy and pain running down her face.

"Oh Dad…" she gasped, and he dropped his sword. He ran to her and embraced her lightly, so as to not disturb her injuries.

"We…did it," he said, and he felt his eyes burning at some searing emotion. It was love…triumph…loss…all rolled into one.

"But Albus…" she said, and grew silent. Harry watched the tears slide down her cheek.

"I know…" he said, but was suddenly reminded of Hermione. He turned, trying to get a glimpse of her—she still had not moved.

"No," he choked out. "No," he repeated, and Apparated both him and Helen over to her.

Helen knelt down carefully, trying not to jar her broken bones, and examined her closely. She felt for a pulse on Hermione's neck; Harry could do nothing but stand by and watch as a helpless feeling overtook him.

"She's…barely…alive. I can feel her pulse fading," she said, and looked up into Harry's face. Harry raised his eyes to the heavens as a sob broke from him. What did he do to deserve this? Why must everything in his life be taken away from him? Could he not live a normal life? Was it possible for him to not lose everything and everyone that mattered to him?

"WHY?" he screamed into the air. He dropped to his knees, and the injustice penetrated his very soul. He had sacrificed so much for the good of others…was it too much to ask for to have his life back? He clenched his eyes closed as a wave of some intense feeling passed through him, and it came to rest on his forehead, where his scar had been.

"Dad…?" Helen asked, hesitantly. Harry barely heard her, however, because something was happening inside him. Something was changing his power, making it crisper, sharper, and easier to feel. It felt like it was expanding…

He opened his eyes as the feeling continued to grow, and grasped Hermione into his arms. Her head lolled slightly to the side, and he could just barely feel the rise and fall of her chest.

"I will _not_ let this happen. Not again," Harry asserted, and he became aware of the fact that the day seemed to be growing brighter around him. He looked down—that shocked him; he had to look down _toward_ the ground—into Helen's eyes, and saw that she was watching him with awe. He raised his eyes again, and there was a whiteness that appeared to be filtering into his vision. The feeling grew more and more intense, crisper and crisper, and he raised his eyes to the heavens. He gripped Hermione tightly, closed his eyelids, and released the power. He saw, from behind his eyelids, a brilliant white flare, as bright as the sun.

----------

Hermione had to cough. It was an unbelievable urge, and one that she had to comply with…except, she couldn't. She wanted to, and she had to, but she couldn't force the air from her lungs. Her brain slowly made the connection that…well, that there was no air in her lungs. She had to breath in order to cough. So, with a great, gasping, shuddering breath, she drew a lungful of air, and then coughed it violently back out.

The second thing she noticed was that everything seemed to be white, even though she knew her eyes were closed. She coughed a few more times, trying to clear her lungs of something that wasn't there, and cracked her eyelids open, adjusting slowly the blinding whiteness facing her.

She next became aware of the strong grip someone…or something…had on her, but it wasn't unpleasant. It felt like…Harry. That's whom it felt like. As her eyes adjusted, she confirmed her expectation, because she was indeed staring into Harry's careworn face.

Something was odd, though. Everything was white. It was disconcerting. It was almost as if she had left the world she'd known and entered some ethereal plane, where everything was engulfed by a blinding, almost angelic whiteness.

"Harry…" she croaked out, and then wet her lips with her tongue. She tried again. "Harry, where are we?"

"Hogwarts," he replied, and his voice sounded like music in her ears. Her eyes welled up with a tender emotion that had no name in this language or any other, and he leaned down and captured her lips in his. She responded hungrily, glad that everything had turned out all right…

She leaned back. "Where's Helen? And Dumbledore? And why is everything white?"

"Whoa…one question at a time," Harry said, and Hermione detected a note of sadness in his voice.

"Helen is right over there," he pointed, and Hermione looked to her right. Helen smiled wanly at her—she was holding her arm, which was at an odd angle, and favoring one of her legs heavily. She was pretty battered, but at least she was all right.

"Dumbledore…he's dead, Hermione," Harry said, quietly. She sat up quickly, looking into Harry's eyes with shock.

"What…?"

"He sacrificed himself for us; he gave me his power."

"And it worked?" she asked, hesitantly.

Harry nodded. "Yes—we have him to thank for this. He was so selfless…" he trailed off.

Hermione sat up all the way, and Harry loosened his grip on her. She ached all over, but it felt good to alive. There was no greater joy in the world than feeling life fill her veins. She squinted against the white glare.

It came into perspective then, however, and she saw that it was emanating from Harry. His aura was white…

"Harry! The white aura!" she breathed, and he nodded.

"And you know what did it?"

She shook her head. "No, what?"

"You, and Helen. My love for both of you did it."

Hermione smiled. "I never had any doubt, Harry…"

Harry stood and pulled her to her feet. They slowly walked over to the body of Dumbledore, which at some point Harry must have covered with his cloak. Helen hobbled over to them, and leaned against Harry.

"I'm glad I chose to go the Orphanage that night, Helen. I wouldn't have you here now if I hadn't. And I'm glad you chose to come back, Hermione, just as I'm glad that I chose to accept you back into my life." He put his arms around their shoulders, and turned his face toward the recently bared sun.

"I'm glad we're all here, together."

"Me too," Hermione and Helen said at the same time. Hermione looked over to Helen and smiled.

"Me too," Hermione repeated, softly.


	28. Epilogue: The Next Great Adventure

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

**A/N: Thank you all for reading and staying with me during the long journey of this story. I don't plan on writing any more fanfiction, but if I do, you will be the first to know. Thanks again, and enjoy the epilogue (don't forget to review!).**

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Epilogue: The Next Great Adventure

_August 12th, 2110_  
"Hasn't changed much, has it?" Harry asked, his voice light and breathy. He leaned gently back against the wall of villa, and swept his slightly clouded green eyes over the beach before him. His wife, Hermione Potter, shook her head beside him.

"No, it hasn't. I like that, though," she said. They were sitting out on the veranda of their villa on a patio couch, leaning back against the house, facing the wide clear waters of the Mediterranean. A hot breeze flitted around their bodies, and Harry smiled as the warm currents caressed his white hair.

"Me too," Harry said, softly, and closed his eyes. It felt so nice to just sit there in the sun, with the warmth on his wrinkled cheeks.

"Our great-grandson starts at Hogwarts this year, Harry," Hermione said. He cracked open his eyes and saw her turn her head toward him slightly. She had aged beautifully, and although she was one hundred thirty, she was still gorgeous in his eyes.

"I'm sure James will love it," Harry responded, and closed his eyes. He was tired, all the time now, and there was nothing better than relaxing some.

"And this will be your…what? Hundredth year as Headmaster?"

Harry nodded. "It's been quite a run."

Hermione was silent for a moment, and Harry thought she was probably considering the tense he used. He knew it, and had known for a long time, but he doubted anyone else suspected. He was an old man, and he was dying. There was nothing he could do to stop it, and he didn't want to. He believed the words that his mentor had spoken to him so long ago: 'To the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.'

"Is there something you want to tell me?" Hermione asked, quietly.

Harry didn't answer immediately. He didn't want to upset her, but it was inevitable. They had both lived long, full lives; complete with the greatest happiness they could have asked for—each other.

"I'm an old man, Hermione. That's all I was saying."

"But you think you're at the end of the journey, don't you?"

Harry just nodded, not opening his eyes. He felt sleep coming on, and he wasn't going to fight it. Maybe it would refresh him a bit.

"Is that why you wanted to stay here longer this year?"

He nodded again. "You've made this feel more like home than Britain," he said, and he felt her lean her head on his shoulder. He slowly slipped an arm around her shoulder, being careful not to jar any old injuries. "Helen, too," he added.

Hermione lifted her head slightly. "Speaking of Helen, where did that old witch get off to?"

Harry smiled into the sun, stretching the crinkled corners of his mouth. "Probably got into some shenanigans with Paul."

"She never did grow up," Hermione said.

Harry chuckled. "Did we?" he asked, and he felt Hermione laugh slightly against his side.

"No…no, I suppose not."

"I think our eight kids will agree with that sentiment," Harry said, thinking of his five sons and three daughters. Hermione and him had been busy for about fifteen years…

"And the twenty-two grandkids."

"Yeah, and you can't forget the fourteen great-grandkids, so far."

"I don't think the world will be able to handle so many Potters," Hermione said, and laid her head back on his shoulder.

"I think we've done alright so far," Harry responded.

A simple silence settled over the pair for a few minutes, and Harry felt the soft touch of sleep again. It was slowly pulling him away, making him drowsier and drowsier.

"What's the one thing you wished you could have done?" Hermione asked. Harry noticed that she was more and more often looking with hindsight, and he thought she knew she was getting near the end as well.

"Integrate magical and Muggle societies," he responded, immediately. It was something he had always wanted to achieve, but there were just far too many roadblocks and ingrained prejudices, going both ways. Most magical people considered Muggles inferior and most Muggles were horribly afraid of magic.

"I thought you'd say that."

"What about you?" Harry asked her, in turn.

"Stayed in Britain," she responded, also immediately.

Harry nodded against her hair, and leaned his head more onto the top of hers. "Well, I'm glad you decided to come back," he said. "I don't know where I would be right now without you."

"I'm sure you would have done just fine, Harry."

"You don't give yourself enough credit, love. You've always been there for me, since then, through everything."

"And I can say the same thing about you."

"Then I guess we're perfect for each other?" Harry asked, rhetorically.

"I guess so," she responded, lightly. A stronger breeze blew up around them, bringing along its currents the sound of the waves crashing onto the beach. Harry breathed deeply and slowly, enjoying the scent of the water.

"This will never get old," Hermione said.

"What won't?"

"Sitting on this veranda with you, in the sun, with the Mediterranean spread out before us like some surreal sky."

"When did you become poetic?" Harry asked, with some amusement evident in his voice. She hit his arm lightly.

"About the same time you became a giant prat."

Harry shrugged. "What can I say? It's one of my many shortcomings."

"I think you can include 'self-deprecating' on that list—you don't have many shortcomings at all."

"Oh, stop it…" he said. "Now you're just trying to flatter me." He felt her lift her head and press her lips briefly against his cheek. He squeezed her shoulder.

"You know, when we were younger, we probably would have thought that was disgusting."

"What? Old people snogging?" she asked, laughing and sitting up.

He opened his eyes to look at her; he saw the humor reflected in her beautifully speckled brown eyes.

"_That_ wasn't snogging, my dear," he said, and smiled. "We haven't snogged in years—that's alright, though. I like sitting here by your side just fine."

She leaned into him so their upper arms were touching. "I like it, too."

They heard the villa's front door open and close just then, and Hermione briefly glanced back through the glass door. "That'll be Helen."

"Yeah," Harry breathed. He felt his eyes drooping once again.

"Hey, you want anything to drink?" she asked.

"Sure…" he trailed off. "Some cold Coke would be nice…"

"Be right back," she said, and he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the house. He heard the door slide open and then closed, and then all was silent save for the sounds of the wind and the waves.

He heard some gulls wheeling overhead, and he turned his face upward a little more, so that all of it would get the sun. His hair was blowing lazily around his forehead, but he didn't move to knock it away. A smile curved his lips as a feeling of serenity came over him.

His breathing slowed, and he felt like sleep was coming on. Hermione would have to wake him up when she came back with that drink. He settled a little deeper into the couch.

Harry listened to the crash of a wave on the shore—Quirrell and the mirror; Hermione petrified; the Grim; the World Cup with Hermione and the Weasleys; Hagrid; Voldemort; Helen; Hermione; Arthur and Molly; Albus; Hogwarts; the villa—and his head drooped.

----------

"Here we are, Harry," Hermione said as she backed out the glass door with the two drinks in her hand. She turned around when no response came.

"Harry?" He had fallen sleep, it seemed. She set the drinks down on the table and sat next to him. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gently shook him. His head lolled strangely.

"Harry?" she asked again. She shook a little harder, and he leaned over into her; she had to brace herself from being knocked over. His nose and mouth were right by her cheek…but…she couldn't feel any warmth or moisture. She leaned him back up into his former position and scrutinized him.

She brought a hand up to her mouth when she realized that his chest wasn't moving. She looked to his face, and her heart panged painfully. There was a tranquil smile across his features.

"Harry…?" she asked again, quite a bit more softly. No response came.

"Oh…Harry…" she breathed, and got down on her knees in front of him. She took his face in her hands and kissed his forehead. The moisture from her lips glistened in the sun when she leaned back.

A tear escaped her eye, but she had a feeling that was all that would come. Harry would have wanted her to celebrate his existence, not mourn his death.

"_Pax tecum_," she whispered, and stood to bring the Helen the news.

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_August 15th, 2110_  
Hermione's eyes swept the beach, taking in the multitudes that had shown up for the funeral of her husband. Their entire family…all of Helen's…many of the students and their parents…former students and their families…Ministry personnel from all over the world…

Harry probably would have scoffed at such pomp and ceremony, but could it really be helped? He was the most celebrated wizard in history—yes, he had surpassed Merlin in notoriety—so it had to be expected. She shifted the small ceramic jar from one hand to another, and began to descend the stairs to the beach, where everyone was waiting. She had purposely avoided wearing black, and had instructed everyone to tell their friends and family not to, because this wasn't really a sad occasion. She was a little upset, but she was happy that Harry had finally found the ultimate peace.

She reached the sand and started across it toward the water where they were all gathered, and saw most of them turn to look at her. They parted as she came near, and she stopped by the water's edge. She turned around to look at them all. Helen was near the front with Paul; he had one of his grandchildren in his arms.

"I'm honored that you all came today, although I know Harry would want to know what the big deal was." This got some laughs from them, and Hermione instantly the mood lighten a little. That was good.

"Of course, we all know exactly what that 'bid deal' is," she continued, getting nods from most of them. "I don't think we need to elaborate, but I'm just going to say: Thank you, Harry. For everything."

"Thank you," most of them repeated. She turned around, facing the Mediterranean, and took the lid off the jar. A strong breeze picked up then, as if on cue, and she slowly tilted the jar in the direction the wind was blowing. A fine string of gray dust—ash—came out of the end and was picked up by the wind, blown out to the Sea.

"Goodbye, Harry," she whispered, and watched as the last particles were swept away.

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_September 11th, 2112  
_The Headmistress descended the steps from the castle, stepped out onto the grounds, and turned right. She had four deep pink roses in her hand, which was swinging lightly with her steps. As she rounded the corner of the castle, a familiar and slightly overgrown path came into view. Up ahead she could see her destination, and she increased her pace.

As she passed over the plaque set in the ground, she looked to the right, and saw the four headstones she was looking for. She stopped in front of them for a moment, and then placed one rose on top of each. She bent and traced the lines of her father's with her fingers, and then stood. Her eyes passed over Ginny's, Albus's, her father's, and Hermione's, and then she turned back to the castle. The afternoon was completely still, so there was no sound.

"Thanks Dad, and thank you all." She stared at the tallest turret for a moment, and then started back toward the castle. As her footsteps were receding with a light whisper of the grass, an easy breeze blew across grounds, rustling the petals of the four roses, which were sitting atop headstones that read:

_In Memoriam  
Ginevra Weasley Potter  
August 11, 1981 – December 25, 1998  
puella cum magna vita_

_In Memoriam  
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore  
March 12, 1846 – April 23, 2010  
vir cum magna sapientia_

_In Memoriam  
Harry James Potter  
July 31, 1980 – August 12, 2110  
vir cum magno animo_

_In Memoriam  
Hermione Granger Potter  
September 19, 1979 – September 11, 2111  
femina cum magna scientia_


End file.
